Of Memories and Nightmares
by Maranwe Elanor
Summary: [Sequel to False Reality] Darkness has many forms. Shadows creep. When Aragorn has a nightmare of his friend's demise, both must find the strength to go on. Real summary inside
1. Darkness Creeps

**Title:** **Of Memories and Nightmares**

**By: Maranwe**

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**Rating: **PG-13 

**Summary:** Picks up a week after the conclusion of False Reality. Aragorn, Elladan, and Elrohir are back in Rivendell safe and sound. Or are they? The poison has been neutralized and all appears well. But things are not always as they seem. Darkness has many forms and shadows creep with the wavering of light. When Aragorn has a dream of doom and travels to Mirkwood to prevent catastrophe, will he find the danger he feared or is it something different? Will he be able to face it? Or will the darkness prove too much? 

**Spoilers:** Ooh, I have some. False Reality. It's a directly related fic, after all. Melon Chronicles, also, since I can't seem to get away from them and write a completely _mine_ story. 

**Series:** It's the second in what I plan as a trilogy. If it has a name, it's lost in the recesses of my mind. Or maybe it was in Aragorn's mind and shall now never be recovered. 

**Disclaimer:** Anything you recognize from other people's work is not mine. I just borrowed them (I think with permission) and promise to give them back. I don't make any money from them and never will. References and allusions to others from many various Mellon Chronicles stories are the property of Cassia and Sio. Raniean and Trelan are theirs, and someone in relation to Tolkien holds all the copyrights, or so I believe. 

**A/N:** While this seems shockingly similar to certain events in Dark Visions, that is merely coincidence. They divulge along different paths quickly. Or failrly quickly. Of course, it may just be me, but it wasn't intentional if I'm not dilusional and it's there. 

I don't think one _needs_ to read False Reality to understand this fic, but, alas, I can not tell. I wrote both and so know everything, but I think I have explained everything that needs explaining to understand well enough in this first chapter that reading the other story is not necessary. Of course, I would suggest you read it anyway. *g* If you have any questions, feel free to ask. I will answer whether you like the answer or not. 

What else? Oh yes. I will be posting ever two days. Meaning two days will pass before the next chapter is posted. I would post every other day, but I know I will be unable to keep up come October, so I will not upset the schedule and do it this way. This story is 20 chapters. And while, technically, this is not supposed to be posted until tomorrow, I suspect those waiting for it will not mind getting it early. 

All mistakes are mine. No one has beta'd this, though my brother read over it when I first wrote it. On that note, I have to say that this fic is NOT slash. No matter what your twisted minds come up with on the basis of this first chapter, it is NOT SLASH. If you would not have considered anything of the sort without this warning, I apologize, as I saw nothing wrong with it, but . . . Oh well. 

I'd like to thank all my wonderful, wonderful reviewers. Any aditional responses to the last chapter of False Reality are at the bottom of the chapter. 

Now, onto the story. 

**Chapter 1**

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**Darkness Creeps**

The night was dark; no moon hung in the sky to add it's light to that of the stars. 

In this realm of semi-darkness, Aragorn sat quietly, staring out the window that offered so little light. The stars offered the only illumination and the human's eyes sought out the light of Earendil. The bright star was a symbol of hope, but it gave him none. Not now. 

A week ago Aragorn had returned to Rivendell after his trip to the Misty Mountains. He had achieved his goal, uncovering who was behind the attacks, and the culprits were now gone, though he knew they were not vanquished. While there, he had met a girl and been poisoned with a drug called Ungwale which preyed upon a person's insecurities and tortured their minds with dreadful images. 

It was because of the later that he could not sleep. 

The days were getting shorter, every one bringing darkness to the lands a little earlier to stay a little longer. It was the way of things, the way of life, but the darkness brought Aragorn no ease, no peace. Never before had the shadows bothered him so much that he could not even imagine going to sleep, not even in the House of Elrond where he had always felt safest. Now, however, he desperately awaited the coming of the Sun to remove the need to sleep; nothing good came of sleep. 

Indeed, images plagued his mind day and night, but never were they worse or more difficult to control than at night, when he was alone with his thoughts and could be dragged into dreams that would not listen to his heart nor his mind. 

Sometimes he saw things from the past, shadows from the death of his father that was likely more imagination than reality for he could not remember his father, only terror. Sometimes it was his elven family he saw. Sometimes he was a boy again, unsure of his place in a land where he was different, afraid of his new family's rejection. But he knew better now, or thought he did. 

Two weeks ago, he had had no problem sleeping. Just two weeks ago, everything had been normal and the darkness was no more threatening than the day. Then, he had met Kalya and unwittingly pulled himself into the middle of a mess far larger than he could have imagined such simple action could wrought. 

On a moutain, standing with a girl over-looking the vast wilderness of the Wilds, he had caught sight of a figure, aiming an arrow at Kalya's back. He had reacted without thought, his instincts to protect the innocent no matter the cost to himself taking over. The arrow had pierced his own chest. Then he found out it was poisoned and Kalya was not as innocent in the matter as she seemed, though he could not regret meeting her. 

And now. . . . Now he suffered from nightly visions and images he had thought to be free of once the Ungwale had be neutralized. He was never free of the darkness, the doubts. They plagued his mind threatening to drive him crazy. All he wanted to do was run, and keep running until the images were gone, left far behind so he no longer had to deal with them. But he could not. 

The attempt would simply alert his family that something was wrong, and then they would inquire into his strange behavior. Then they would learn of his weakness and would see that he was no better than Isildur, who had allowed darkness to continue. They would disown him, and he would be left alone to face the shadows in his mind; alone with no hope of escape. 

Hope. Estel. What he was named for was slipping from his grasp. Indeed, it was growing more and more difficult to hide his trouble the greater the time that passed. It was a mark of his lassitude that not even the irony of his name could draw a response from him. 

Dark cirlces gave away that he did not sleep, and his lighter weight gave away that he did not eat. So far, Elrond and his brothers seemed to think nothing of it, or if they did had decided to wait and see if he pulled out of it or would seek them out for help. Then there was the fatigue, pulling at him constantly, slowing his movements, clouding his mind. He was not sure how much longer he could function, how much longer he could pretend everything was all right, without sleep. He wondered how much longer it would be before he could no longer avoid revealing his weakness. 

Finally, he blinked. Then, slowly, shakily, he crawled to the edge of the bed and swung his legs over the side, then stood. His vision blacked out along the edges and the world seemed to spin, protesting his change from sitting to standing. He frowned, a hand coming up as if to grab hold of something, but the feeling passed and he was left staring across his room. 

Shaking off the dark thought that flooded through his mind, Aragorn turned back and grabbed the small candle that sat lit on the table beside his bed, then attempted to cross the floor to the washroom. 

Had anyone been around to see him, they might have concluded he was drunk. His steps were unsteady and he wove slightly with every advance so that by the time he reached the door he had traveled nearly as far sideways as he had forward. 

Trembling hands grabbed ontot the doorframe tightly once it was finally within reach. The young man pulled himself against it and used the sturdy wood as a brace to keep him upright. A light sheen of sweat had broken out across his brow; he wiped irritably at it then moved into the room, firmly closing the door behind him. 

Briefly, he leaned against the door and closed his eyes. For a moment he wished he was simply another man, without the weight of heritage that rested upon his shoulders, weighing him down with dreaded responsibility, free to live a simple life and never know anything more adventurous than the weekly or monthly trips to town a farmer made for supplies or to sell his goods at market. 

Sometimes he desperately wished he was as ignorant of the shadows that crept across Middle-earth as those he fought to defend. Sometimes he wished he was one of them. He could even picture it: a simple life, a farm, a wife, kids, happiness, no earh-shattering problems to pull him away from peace and quiet. . . . 

Aragorn shook his head sharply as if to clear it. Then, with a last deep breath, he moved forward again, gingerly stepping across the smooth pearl-colored stone floor. Such a truly simple life, he knew, would never hold him no matter how much he might wish it to be so. In fact, it would probably drive him mad with boredom. He would be off looking for some adventure within a few months--looking, or wishing he could. 

He knelt on the steps that led up to the washtub and turned the spigot that allowed hot water to flow into the comparatively large basin. It was a marvel accomplished by the elven engineers who harnessed the waterfall, though he did not understand how. Still, it was an amenity he was more than grateful to take advantage of. 

He tested the water flowing in, his eyes locked on the cascading fluid, entranced, though not so entranced that the sparkling rush could still his thoughts nor send them flowing down an alternative path. 

Indeed, even if he could be happy in such a simple life, he knew he would not change it, no matter if he could. He treasured his time living in Rivendell. He loved Elrond and Elladan and Elrohir; they were the only family he had ever known, and he could not imagine giving them up, not for anything. 

With a sigh, he moved away to begin lighting the candles--half a dozen fat things that were not given to arbitrarily tipping and setting various objects on fire--placed around the room, then over to the pair of torches on opposite sides of the room. Light now filling the room, he set down the candle he held and put it out, then began to undress. 

If he had not grown up in Lord Elrond's house, would he have met Legolas? Likely he would not be a ranger and would have had no reason to be crossing the wastelands that day. He would have known nothing of elves, and probably would have been afraid of the fair being. Legolas might even have left him or something else, but it was doubtful they would have become friends. 

He paused in mid-motion, his vision of what his life would be like without Legolas' friendship consuming him, then he moved again, his motions continued with agitated quickness. 

Never could he imagine anything coming between himself and the elf. The fey being's friendship was too important to him to lose for anything as trivial as discontent over a couple of dreams. He would face anything to protect his friend: orcs, wargs, demons, whatever happened to come, even dreams, if need be. Granted, they could both stand to do without quite so many close calls, and their fathers would probably be pleased if they could somehow manage to avoid even a few of the many various mishaps that seemed to just _wait_ for the two of them to get together before releasing their fury, but he could regret none of it. 

Never had he heard that a human could die from a droken heart, but if anything happened to Legolas--especially because of him--Aragorn was sure he would find out. If not, he would surely go mad with grief. Life without his friend could never be the same; it was too terrible to imagine. 

Aragorn's movements stilled, his back straightening as he finished undressing and his hands hung limply at his side. His breathing deepened as he struggled to remain in control of his emotions, not because anyone would see, but because it was a weakness his pride could not afford; he was already a failure, he did not need to confirm it with yet another weak action. 

Trembling again, this time with suppressed emotion, the ranger levered himself up and slid into the hot water that now filled most of the tub, his weight displacing it, raising its level. Satisfied, he leaned forward and turned the spigot the other way, cutting off its rushing flow. 

The Dúnadan sat back, slipping further into the water until his head rested against the edge, his legs drawn up to accomodate his long form. Then he simply stared while he allowed the hot water to ease away the tension in his limbs, across his shoulder blades. 

All their mis-adventures, all their close calls, all problems Legolas had ever had were his fault. He had known it then, and he knew it now. Why Legolas could not see it was beyond him. The elf had even said it--albiet, in jest--("I had a perfectly normal life until your brother inflicted himself upon me! Just look what has happened since!"*) but he had still said it. 

Everything bad that had happened to the elf was his fault. Everything bad that was _likely_ to happen to the elf would also be his fault. A frown marred his still youthful features. He should stay away from Legolas; he could die following Aragorn around. But if the man was not around to follow, nothing bad could happen. Simple. 

Or not. 

That, Legolas would never stand for, Aragorn knew. If he was never around and never came by for a visit, sooner or later his friend would seek him out, a fact he knew because if the tables were turned, he would do the same. That the mere thought of such an action hurt--a sharp ache deep in his heart--more than he would have thought possible without a physical injury, was another detriment. Add in Elladan and Elrohir, who would want to know what was wrong that he was avoiding the elven prince, and such a thought became impossible. He could not hide forever. . . . 

A sad smile pulled at his lips as he thought back to his discussion with Kalya just over a week before. His destiny was what it had been about, whether he was strong enough or no. She, for some reason, had pressed him to accept his destiny, and he had told her he could not. It gave him no satisfaction that he had been right: he was too weak to be king. 

This just proved it. What they all thought they could see that would make them think otherwise, he could not fathom, but he knew it was not there. Everyone would be incredibly disappointed when they found what they thought they saw was not there. He frowned and glanced down, then began idly tracing patterns across the surface of the water, his gaze following the ripples even as his thoughts sank further into his self-destructive thoughts. 

It never occurred to him that it could be _his_ perception that was off, that there truly _was_ greater strength inside him than he knew. It never crossed his mind that so many elves, men, and dwarves were his friends because of some strength of character that denied all his doubts. It never occurred to him the shadows that whispered doubts in his mind were anything other than truthful, never occurred to him that the damage done by the poison was not gone. It never occurred to him that the antidote which had neutralized the poison had only released him from the Shadow's grasp, not dispelled the shadow itself. 

It never occurred to him, and Kalya had never had a chance to tell him. 

Sequestered by chioce in his room, hauted by perceived failure, with no challenge to his dark thoughts, the shadows in his mind grew stronger. . . . 

~*~ 

His head came up as his eyes snapped open in surprise. Sounds, where once there had been silence, filtered through the air, coming to his mind slowly, faintly, as if over a great distance or through some other medium than air. 

Darkness filled his vision. 

The ranger looked around slowly, scanning back and forth, every sense on alert, every muscle tense for action, the alarm that had flooded his system slow to release its hold. Yet nothing happened. Other than the sounds, nothing touched his senses. He could feel nothing around. 

Eventually, he stopped trying to feel, the panic receding slowly as nothing dangerous presented itself, and focused on the sounds that seemed to far away. 

A clash, like the ringing of metal, sharp, echoing. A scuffle of feet moving quickly, rocks clattering briefly. Harsh breath, fast. Another scuffling, slithering sound, then ringing metal. A grunt of satisfaction or . . . pain? 

The sounds came to him, each indentifiable, but he could not seem to place them together to see what they meant. A collection of random sounds had no meaning, yet he felt these should. 

Yet another clash, harsh and unyielding. Firm impact against stone, a thud. Scattering, slithering, leaves, breath, clash, clang, the sounds came faster, repeating at odd intervals, occassionally joined by a new sound or two, but then it was gone. Still he knew not what it was, and still the feeling of familiarity grew, speaking of somehting he was long familiar with but could not place. 

His eyes narrowed as his mind struggled for realization, grasping futilely at a notion that hung just out of reach, taunted with the prospect of attaining the unattainable which nevertheless seemed to be close enough if one could reach just a hair further. . . . 

Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach, forming a solid knot that seemed to grow heavier and heavier, pulling him down. Something bad was about to happen, something he had known was inevitable but which his mind, flighty as it was of late, refused to focus on. The fact that his own mind refused to cooperate did not deter the ranger, though, and he continued his attempts to grasp that elusive knowledge which danced just out of reach and yet, for all that, still seemed to desire to be caught. . . . 

Then the world spun. Or seemed to, a singularly perturbing feeling as there was no world to spin, yet it did. Aragorn caught his breath as he felt he was falling, stiffening reflexively though he knew there was nowhere to fall to just as there was nowhere to fall _from_. 

When everything seemed returned to normal (or at least what he thought was normal), the ranger tried to look around; a completely worthless exercise in a pitch black void, admittedly, but a habit he had long since grown accustomed to, just the same, and not one he was anxious to break simply because he found himself currently in limbo. 

His surprise, then, was palpable, when he looked around him and saw someone else also occupying this abyss. In the distance, too far for him to make out, were two figures, both tall, though one was light while the other was dark. One was lithe while the other was stocky. They seemed to be moving in their own world, unaware of their surroundings. Not that there was much to be aware of, but the notion was so fully ingrained into the Dúnadan's responses that he noted it without thought of the blackness of the surroundings they shared. 

The two figures drew him, tempting him closer. He tried to move closer, found he could not, then noticed that both figures nonetheless grew largers, their movements bringing them closer, apparently. Now he could make out their movements, a complicated dance that held deadly intent. 

As they moved closer, the sounds started to click into place. One-by-one he indentified what he had heard earlier against their movements. the clash of swords as one swung for the other and was blocked. Feet moving across the ground as the combatants moved around each other, breath harsh from their exertions whistling out. A veritable cacophany of sounds, steady, constant, except when it was interrupted by a grunt of pain or a thud or some other sound which as of yet did not belong in the tapestry of movements being woven before him. 

Mesmerized, he stared, able and wanting to do nothing but watch, absorbed. It was a good thing there was nothing else around him to vie for his attention for he would not have noticed even a band of orcs if they had suddenly marched up and trampled him, save to object if they obscured his view of the two fighters. 

Slowly, the light figure became clearer, even as the dark figure grew more obscured. Golden hair flowed behind as the lithe figure moved and turned, blocking and evading blows. The clothes this being wore also gained resolution: a moss-green overtunic covered the long sleeved light grey tunic he wore underneath, dark grey leggings ending in soft, supple, dark brown boots. He came closer--or the the figures did--and he saw the belt secured around the being's waist, the quiver strapped to his back, the knives in his hands, the gauntlets secured around his wrists. 

In his heart he knew what his mind had yet to register, and apprehension curled up his spin, forcing him to shift in an attempt to relieve the feeling, the disire to move, to act nearly overwhelming him. 

He noted the triple braids holding back the fair being's hair, the intricate elvish designs on quiver and knives, the graceful, pointed ears of the Eldar as each was presented to his sight by the elf's motions. 

Abandoning his spine, the fear crept over to his heart and lungs, squeezing so as to deny his the air they desperately sought as his breathing sped up. 

The combatants shifted, and Aragorn caught his first glimpse of the fair being's face. Blue eyes burned into his own for a fraction of a second, an eternity, and then they were obscured again. 

A dark feeling, a dread certainty settled over his heart and mind, telling him that nothing good would come of this battle, screaming at him that his friend would die, that he had to stop this before. . . . The end would be upon him soon, one way or another. 

Aragorn struggled, desperately attempting to move closer. He tried to scream, distract his friend's opponent. . . . All to no avail. No sound issued from his mouth and his struggles only served to move him further away. 

Despair pulled at his thoughts, unbearable pain as he watched Legolas stumble, saw him drop his guard, mesmerized as the dark blade of his the elf's opponent sunk deeply into his flesh, heard the shocked gasp of pain as icy tendrils entered the other's body and grabbed hold in order to lead its soul towards death. 

Legolas fell to his knees, his eyes seeking out Aragorn's, and in that gaze, he saw betrayal. 

~*~ 

Aragorn's eyes snapped open, his mouth opened to scream only to get a mouthful of water. Shock caused him to breath in, that impulse promptly aborted as his lungs struggled to expel the foreign fluid. His eyes watered as he floundered, his hands blindly grasping around him, frantically searching. For what, his muddled brain did not know. 

Finally, though, his seeking hands closed on the rim of the tub and he hauled himself up, coughing and spluttering before he actually managed to get some air. He did not wait for his breathing to calm before clambering out of the tub, paying no heed to the water he took with him. 

He practically fell down the stairs in his haste, and immediately sprawled face down upon the floor once he reached it. He pressed his cheek against the cool marble and took deep breaths as he tried to calm his racing heart and the helpless trembling that raged through his body. His eyes, now a dark and lifeless grey, stared unwaveringly at the wall across from him. 

What he had seen in Legolas' eyes in his dream and what he knew of his friend battled fiercely in his mind. That look had said clearly that the elf prince's death was the ranger's fault, that it was because of him that the other's light would never again grace the realm of the living. Yet Legolas had always scolded him for blaming himself. 

Desperately, Aragorn grasped at the thought as a drowning man grasps for the surface, frantic to find a reason why his thoughts could not be true. Legolas could not blame him, could not hate him. Could he? 

Slowly, far too slowly for the ranger's liking, his heartbeat and breathing returned to normal. Still, he made no motion to move, simply remaining where he was even after the chill of his position should have become unbearable, the stone leeching the body-heat away. 

Panic swirled though his gaze. His mind was still clouded from sleep and foggy from the dream, but languidly returned to some semblance of calm as semi-rational thought returned to the Dúnadan. 

It was a dream. Dreams are not always true. His family had not rejected him as his other dream said. They were still with him, loving him, teasing him just like always. Maybe this dream lied, too. It had to lie. 

But what if it did not? 

Aragorn's eyes closed as a pain as real as any physical ache ripped through him. Legolas could not be dead; it could not be his fault. 

Finally, his mind closed on something useful. He could go to Mirkwood. Yes, he could pay his friend a visit, and then he would know the shadow lied and they could no longer torment him with their cruel stories. 

Decided, and somewhat calm, the ranger finally found the strength to move. Joints stiff from cold protested the change of position and he hissed as he slowly worked his way to his feet. His teeth chattered as the shaking that now made his movements unsteady were now from cold. 

Moving as one who is old or imfirm, he pulled on a robe then rubbed his arms briskly in an attempt to warm up. It would take some concinving, he knew, to get Lord Elrond to allow him to journey to Mirkwood, especially after his last adventure, but he would manage, even if he had to leave in the middle of the night without his foster father's consent. He would find out the truth if it killed him. 

No longer helpless, a measure of strength returned to Aragorn's figure despite the gauntness of his features and the extra leanness of his frame. For the first time in days, the human truly felt hungry. 

Outside, the first light of dawn finally crept over the horizon, its brilliance cutting through the darkness and painting the sky in vibrant colors and caressing the treetops in preparation for the coming day. 

Additional responses: 

**Grumpy:** _ I_ imagine Strider can go a long time without sleeping. How long he actually goes . . . That is another question entirely. 

**Bill the Pony:** lol. I'm so glad you enjoyed it, and I never mind your spelling. I didn't even notice that one until you pointed it out. On the flip side, I hope you don't mind _my_ spelling. *g* As for the cliffie. . . . Well, that was more . . . A teaser. I could have put it at the beginning of this one as a prologue, but I thought it was more . . . Effective, as an epilogue. Hehe. 

**Nell Marie:** Late is fine. I don't mind, really. *ignores the fact that she had pouted for a few days before the review came* And here's the next story. I hope you enjoy it as much as or more than the other one. That's my goal. Enjoy. 


	2. Escape the Shadows

It's rather early, but I think I'll post anyway. The fact that the sun has yet to show its face and that most normal people are sleeping right now, not withstanding, it is still Sunday, and that is when I said I would post. *g* lol. Of course, reading it, I realized this chapter could likely be taken out entirely. What that means, is that you now know Aragorn is going to Mirkwood, but he isn't going just yet. Tomorrow morning, yes? Ai, I think I've had a bit too much Bengwiil. Lol. I'm fine. Really. 

**Endril McMerlyn:** *grins widely* Wow. I'm so pleased, you have no idea. I hope the rest of the chapters meet with such continued approval. Lol. Oh, I'm in a formal stage. Actually, I mean I hope you love the rest of the chapter, too! 

**Bill the Pony:** Second is good. I'm so glad you decided to stick around, return from the horizon. . . . And Aragorn's happy, too. He would hate to suffer for no reason, you know. *g* 

**Nell-Marie:** *smile widens impossibly* Oh good. Your reviews are always so informative. I love them. And there will be a third, it just might be the new year before I finish it. Mighty stubborn, that thing is, you have no idea. Never mind that it's a million times more complicated than the two I've written before. *rubs face tiredly before grinning* I need to go to bed, me thinks. 

**Grumpy:** I hate pop-ups too. Annoying suckers. 

And I'm so glad to hear from you all again. Lol. You followed. *smiles dreamily* And, no, before you ask, I'm not drunk. Honestly. It's merely late, after ten you know, and I'm deliriously happy. So, without further ado, and so I may go to bed and dream of happy things--such as Legolas waiting by a pool to spend time with me all alone, or Aragorn suddenly appearing to give me a back rub--I present the next chapter. It's a break chapter too early to need a break. Ai, but it's yours to enjoy. *g* I think the spelling and such is right. I actually checked the spelling this time. . . .****

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**Chapter 2**

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**Escape the Shadows**

Three people sat at the table for breakfast, plates of food sitting mostly untouched before them. Worry had kept them from sleeping well and chased them from their beds with the coming of first light. 

Lord Elrond sat at the head of the table as was his custom, occasionally taking small bites from the long cool dish before him. Elladan and Elrohir had stopped even pretending to eat long ago, their dark eyes glued to the table yet looking at nothing. Their father watched them with concerned eyes, knowing it was their adopted brother who worried them. 

Of course, if he was honest with himself, he knew it was Aragorn who worried him, as well. It did not take an elf's keen eyes to detect the steady decline in the young human. He was pulling away, closing in upon himself. It hurt to be rejected, but what troubled the elf lord more than that was _why_. 

No one had been able to offer an explanation, and the one person who could answer all of their questions they dared not ask. The guarded expression in his eyes, warning against prying, kept them from approaching the troubled young man, kept them from helping him. 

Neither his family nor his friends could think of a way to get through to him, to break through the walls he had erected to protect himself from . . . what? The uncertainty was beginning to drive the elf mad. Patience he had learned in his many millennia of life, yet nothing worked against patience like love for someone who was suffering, and it was always hardest to stand impartial when it came to hurting family. 

Not for the first time, Elrond wondered if Legolas would not have better luck reaching the human. Aragorn was closer to the elven prince than any of the others. Mayhap the young man would speak of his troubles to one he trusted implicitly. 

It was his twin sons, however, who currently concerned him. Elladan and Elrohir looked almost as sleep deprived as their brother. Dark circles surrounded their eyes. Their clothing--unchanged from yesterday--was rumpled and disheveled, giving the impression that the two had rolled down a mountain. Neither had eaten very well the last couple of days, either. 

He had watched in silence, but he could no longer let this continue. "Concern for your brother is not reason enough to slack in taking care of yourself," he told the identical elves before him. 

Both glanced at him. "But, Father," Elrohir complained. "I cannot stand watching him . . . disintegrate before our very eyes. He's wasting away and we can do nothing." 

Elladan simply returned to playing with his food, listlessly pushing around the contents. It was to a point now where Elrond could no longer tell what it had been when it was placed before his son. 

"Wasting away with him will not solve that," he countered calmly. "If you are to help him, you cannot join him." 

"He won't talk to us," Elladan spoke up, his voice low. "I thought he trusted us, knew he could talk to us if anything is wrong. Why won't he talk to us, let us help?" 

Matching blue eyes met, and Elrond desperately wished he had an answer for his son that would ease the other's pain. Thousands of years old, his sons might be, but time has never been known to stop pain when a loved one was hurting. Only the easing of the pain could do that. 

"I don't know, my son. Aragorn's thoughts have ever been his own, even more so as he has grown older. And we do not yet know all we need to about that drug he was given. That may yet have something to do with it." He glanced down at his own barely touched plate, wishing all his wisdom could provide insight into why his youngest shunned their help. He, too, thought the issues of trust had long been put to rest. "Maybe something today will change and he will allow us to assist him." 

Quiet nods were all he received and he frowned. Silence from one of his sons was one thing, this despondency in all three was unbearable. "Nevertheless, I expect the both of you to act normal. He seems happier when the three of you jest together. Perhaps it helps him in some way just having you near." 

Elrohir looked up, his expression thoughtful. Elladan half-turned away, his gaze turning to the hallway leading into the room from the stairs. The elf lord frowned, then heard what had caught his eldest's attention: footsteps. Human footsteps, to be precise, moving quickly with little regard to silence, unusual for the young man. 

He focused on the being that stepped into view as soon as he passed the threshold of the door. He nearly winced at what he saw. Bloodshot silver eyes stared back at him, a nearly wild light in their eyes. The young man's clothes hung oddly on him, testament to his lost weight. Ashy skin evidenced his poor health. He looked terrible, and yet had a nervous energy about him that had been lacking of late, an excitement that resisted containment in the corporeal form it inhabited. 

It was a regression, of sorts, for Aragorn had not been so jittery since he was a teenager, yet it was a welcome change from the melancholy youth who had walked Rivendell's halls this past week. Elrond wondered what had wrought the change, and noted a similar question in his sons' eyes. 

The elf smiled. "Good morning, Estel. Would you care for some breakfast?" 

The young man bit his lip as he surveyed what they were eating, his gaze pausing on Elladan's uneaten meal and a small frown creased his brow, then he looked back up. "I think I could eat," he announced. 

A servant that had been waiting nearby hurried out, anxious to get back with the food lest the young human change his mind. It was not just Elrond and his sons that worried, but the entire populace of Imladris, whether they were particularly fond of the human or not. 

Aragorn settled down next to Elladan, his right elbow settling on the table and his head resting in his hand. Intent eyes regarded the mess that had once been food. Elladan was looking at the young man as if he had suddenly lost his mind. Elrohir looked as if he was studying for a test. Had the situation not been so serious, Elrond might have laughed. 

Finally, the ranger looked up. "Trying your hand at food-art again, my brother?" Elladan simply stared at him. Aragorn's lips twitched. "No?" His hand reached forward to tilt the plate in his direction for a better look. "What's it supposed to be?" 

The elder twin blinked twice, finally getting around the fact that Estel had actually made a joke, after a week of a somber young man, that was startling. "I was going for an orc," he said, leaning back. 

"An orc?" Aragorn questioned, his lip curling in disgust. "Well, maybe." He put the plate back down and glanced at Elrohir. He met the intent gaze, then glanced at Elrond. "Was there a notice, Father, that said I was to be inspected for a test later?" 

The other twin blushed and looked away, missing Aragorn's smirk, though he recovered quickly. "It's simply astonishing," he said. "How horrible you can look and yet seem in such good spirits. Did you meet up with Elladan's orc before you came downstairs?" 

Aragorn chuckled slightly, the sound weary, leaning back as a plate was placed before him. He took a bite, then looked up at his adopted father, seriousness replacing the playful countenance in the blink of an eye. "Actually, I have a request." 

Elrond nodded for him to continue. 

"I would like to visit Legolas in Mirkwood." 

Elrohir frowned. "Are you sure you're well enough?" 

"Traveling from here to there is dangerous, you know," Elladan added. 

Aragorn met the elf lord's eyes, ignoring his brothers. "Might I inquire what brought this on, my son?" he asked calmly. 

The young ranger glanced down and seemed to both gather and brace himself. He looked back up. "It's been a long time since I've heard from Legolas, and even longer since I've seen him. I simply want to make sure he is well." Aragorn shrugged, and looked back down at his plate to continue eating. 

The twins glanced back at him, and he knew they were dying to demand Aragorn stay in Rivendell where he was safe. Really, that was his impulse, as well, but could he truly say the young man was safe in Imladris? No, he could not. The wasting figure before him was proof enough of that. And, difficult as it was to admit, Elrond had no idea what to do to reach the young man. He was distant, and nothing any of them had done had been able to reach him. Again, Elrond thought that perhaps Legolas would succeed where they had failed. 

Indeed, it seemed even the thought of seeing Legolas again had lifted the young one's spirits, and given him back something of an appetite. Plus, he recognized that look; short of tying Aragorn up and locking him away, there would be no way of keeping the human away from his friend. The elf lord was sure any such action would only harm the human more than letting him go. 

Thus it was that Elrond firmly told every parental instinct within him shouting that if he let his son go he might never see him again to shut up, and spoke the words Aragorn obviously desperately wanted to hear. "Of course you may go," he said, and the brilliant smile the Dúnadan turned on him was proof enough that he had chosen correctly. Then, he continued, "With one stipulation." 

The smile was replaced with wary regard. "What?" 

"I would like your brothers to go with you." He noticed that seemed to calm their objections even as he kept his gaze focused on his youngest. 

Slowly, the young man nodded, then he smiled. "I think I can live with that," he declared, the smile he gifted Elrohir with earning him a return smile. Then he turned back to Elrond. "When can we leave?" 

"Tomorrow morning, at dawn if you wish. There are a few things that need to be taken care of before you go, and for my own peace of mind, I request you eat lunch and dinner as well. Then, unless sudden illness befalls any of you, I would bid you off." 

Another frown marred the ranger's brow, but eventually he nodded. "Tomorrow morning," he agreed. Looking thoughtful, he returned to his breakfast, oblivious to the strange looks he received from his family. 

Mentally, Elrond shrugged. Sometimes it was more than useless trying to figure out a man's mind. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Aragorn walked outside the Last Homely House, anxious to find some peace. His father and his brothers were taking care of readying the supplies and had forbid him to participate, bidding him rest. It was frustrating to be told to do the one thing he dared not. 

It was for that reason that he once again found himself staring over the bridge into the rushing water. With a sad smile he thought back to the last time he had stood here and stared into the turbulent depths. It was amazing to him how much was still the same, and how much had changed. Indeed, it was only the specifics that had changed, and not the general issues at all. 

He sighed and leaned heavily against the railing, bracing his forearms against the stone railing while his hands dangled over the edge, clasped lightly. But the water, with its rushing torrential flow, did nothing to soothe his troubled thoughts, and he turned his attention up, seeking the trees whose leaves were gradually changing colors. Winter, though, was still a few months off. 

His thoughts drifted off to the first winter he remembered in Rivendell. It had snowed that year, and he had been captivated by the white stuff that fell from the sky. He had wanted to touch it, and his brother's had shared his excitement despite their great years, probably because they had enjoyed watching his reactions. 

The poor elves; for all their years of experience and wisdom, they had no idea what to do with a human child in the snow. Getting him dressed had been an adventure in itself, and Aragorn knew he had given the two elves fits, removing the clothes and running off before they could react. 

A fond smile crossed the ranger's face as he remembered how exasperated they had been with him. After nearly an hour of chasing Aragorn around, the twins had finally begged Celboril's help and managed the task of dressing the precocious youth. 

None of them had been quite sure how many layers were needed to keep a human child warm and had put on many of them to be on the safe side. He had been so completely swathed in clothes that his arms stuck straight out at his sides and he could not walk, a round ball of clothing with Edain flesh somewhere inside. 

Elrond had taken one look at him when the twins had carried him in for inspection and burst out laughing. Still laughing, the lord of Imladris had taken Aragorn back the boy's room and removed a couple layers while switching out a couple more which would prove warmer and allow the child some movement. 

The twins had smiled sheepishly when he had run out, jumping up and down and begging to be taken outside to see the snow. He remembered the patience they had shown him, playing with him through the morning and past lunch. It was the first time he remembered that he truly felt at home, like he was welcome. 

When they had finally dragged themselves back in, and Aragorn had been stripped of his many outer layers, the three had collapsed in the Great Hall, fires raging around them. He had woken up cradled in Elladan's arms, the elf's hand gently stroking through his hair, with Elrohir sitting beside them, a fond smile pulling at his lips. 

Aragorn bit back the tears that gathered in his eyes, blinking rapidly to get rid of the fluid. He wished those simple, happy times were his again, that he could simply give himself up to his brothers' protective arms with no concern, offer up all worries to a loving embrace and have all cares brushed away with caring words and warm hugs. He chuckled mirthlessly at his own impossible wishes. 

No, things could never go back to the way they had been then. He was grown now, a man, and he must take care of his own problems. No one else could take care of them now. He had a heritage to live up to, things to prove--to others and to himself--or to die trying, yet it was always simpler to think than to accomplish, and just now he would rather face a horde of orcs than give in to sleep. There was nothing comforting about that all encompassing darkness. 

The ranger started walking again, glad no one else was around. In less than a day, he would be on his way to Mirkwood, and maybe by this time a week from now, his nightmares would be gone and he could sleep. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Elladan moved quickly through his house, gathering supplies. He had already gathered his own pack and was now going to pack Aragorn's. 

The elf entered the room and immediately sought the small bag, grabbing two changes of clothes, the ranger's whet stone, and a couple other amenities he thought it would be good to take. The bedroll was attached quickly and he looked around to see if he was missing anything. 

Keen eyes lighted on the small token Legolas had left the last time he had stopped by Rivendell when Aragorn was not here. The craftsmanship was truly beautiful and he remembered the ranger's words when he had placed it in his bag before leaving two weeks ago. _For some reason . . . I feel I should take it._

What he could only term a similar feeling, Elladan walked forward and picked up the small piece. It was a miracle it had not been broken the first time, but maybe, just maybe, that luck would still hold. The elf carefully tucked the small object away, wrapping it carefully in the ranger's clothes. 

He was about to leave, when he caught the slight smell of smoke and saw light coming from the washroom. Curious, he left the pack on the bed and walked cautiously towards the partially opened door. 

Carefully, he pulled the door the rest of the way open and found it empty. He frowned at the still burning candles and torches, then glanced back behind him. Aragorn had not been in here for at least an hour. The ranger knew better than to leave the candles burning when the room was not being used. 

Somewhat annoyed, he stepped in quickly to put them out, and stopped halfway across the floor, surprised. He stepped back and looked down, for the first time noting the water that still pooled on the floor. Keen eyes followed it up the steps and into the tub, which was still full. Water was sloshed over the side, even going so far as to reach one of the candles and extinguish its flame; the scene reminded Elladan of Aragorn's youth, when the child had insisted on more water ending on the floor than remaining in the basin. 

That, however, did not explain the scene before him. It had been many years since the human had been so careless while taking a bath, nor so light-hearted, and the elf knew neither could explain what had happened last night. 

Forgetting past experience with Estel that could explain it, Elladan had to admit it looked like someone had been taking a bath and been surprised in the tub with a struggle ensuing. But he was sure no one but Aragorn had been in here last night. The young man would have mentioned if he had been attacked while in the House of Elrond, if for no other reason than because it was a security issue, and he had mentioned no such thing. 

The elf bit his lower lip, concern and respect for his youngest brother's privacy warring within him. He shook his head; at any other time he might have risked upsetting his brother by delving into his private affairs, but with the other's moods so unpredictable, he dared not alienate him. 

Walking more carefully, he crossed the floor and pulled the plug from the tub to allow the now cold water to escape, then set about putting out the candles that still burned. He also put out the torches; Estel would not be using them again for a while. 

He walked back to the door, pausing once to look back, before leaving the room. Whatever was bothering the human, Aragorn would have to open up to someone before they could help him. He only hoped the young one opened up before something irreversible happened. To lose the Dúnadan now, after so short a time, was simply too unbearable to contemplate. 

Elladan pulled the door closed behind him and left. 

With what he had entered for in his hands, he left the human's room and continued down the hall for his twin's room, his pace just as quick but his thoughts far away. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Slowly and methodically, with a grace born of many millennia of practice, Elrond readied the herbs and bandages he was sending with his sons on their trip over the mountain. 

There had been far too many incidents in the last couple of years when traveling between Rivendell and King Thranduil's realm in Mirkwood for him to even contemplate sending the young ones off without adequate supplies. Of course, knowing Aragorn's penchant for getting into trouble, the elven lord was not entirely sure the amount of supplies he could place in a small bag would ever be enough to be considered _adequate_, but he would do his best to make sure they did not arrive on the trail and meet trouble only to find their supplies lacking. 

He had a feeling, though, that any problems they would encounter on the trip to Mirkwood would not be so easy to treat as a cut or remediable with any of the potions he was currently dividing into three packs. Whatever was ailing Aragorn could only be solved in the young man's mind. 

Elrond had never thought there would be a time when he would have preferred some physical wound to befall the young one, something he could treat no matter how horrible. Just about anything would have been better in the elf's mind. This malady he could not touch reminded him far too much of the loss of his wife, Celebrían. 

Then, too, the poison had been cured, but the taint of the poison could not be removed, and his lovely wife had deemed she could no longer live in Middle-earth, crossing the sea and leaving him and his sons behind. That Aragorn could not cross the sea when he grew tired of living offered no comfort to the elf lord, for he knew that when humans grew tired of living, they tended to die, and that was worse for he knew he would see his wife again, but if Aragorn died he would never see his beloved adopted son ever again. 

Focusing intently on the motions of his hands, Rivendell's lord tried his best to ignore the pain that lanced through his heart at that thought. No, he could not bear to lose another loved one, could not bear to watch another fade while he was forced to stand idly by unable to help. 

A tear escaped, marking his cheek with a silvery trail as it flowed down his face. Elrond caught it before it could fall to the floor and wiped it away, his motions coming to a halt as he fought the very real fear and heartache that rushed through him. 

It was happening again, what he swore he would never let happen again, and he was powerless to stop it. No magic within his grasp could help his youngest son, and Aragorn would not allow them close enough to find out what was wrong. 

"Ada?" 

He whirled quickly, surprised, for he had heard no one approach. "Elrohir." Then he quickly pushed the pain behind a mask of calm. The last thing he wanted was to give his sons another reason for concern. "Is there something wrong?" he asked. 

The younger twin regarded him silently for a long moment, seemingly debating whether or not to ask something that was on his mind. 

"You can talk to me about anything, Elrohir," he prompted. "I am always here to listen." 

An easy smile was his answer. "Yes, Father, I know. It's just--" Elrohir moved forward a few steps before cutting off his own sentence and pausing in his approach. The young elf glanced down, anguish written in his eyes. Elrond moved to step forward, answering his father's instincts to comfort his son, when Elrohir again looked up, pinning the elf lord to his spot. "Is Aragorn leaving us like mother did?" 

Now he did continue forward, giving into the impulse to hug his younger child, both giving and receiving comfort from the tight embrace. "No, ion nin, no. This will be different," he assured, speaking as much to himself as the body crushed against him. "Everything will work out, you'll see." He laughed lightly. "Legolas will help." 

Elrohir chuckled, too. "He seems to do that a lot," the younger elf commented quietly. 

"Yes," Elrond mused, his mind thinking back over the many various adventures the two youths had had over the course of the years, the many times they had drug each other back to Rivendell with various injuries for treatment, half-dead. Yet always, one was there for the other and the elf lord prayed it would be the same this time, that Legolas could somehow get through to Aragorn where they had failed. 

_Ah, Illúvitar, bring him back to us_, he thought. Then he smiled down at the elf in his arms as he pulled back. "Aragorn will be fine, Elrohir. He will. Now, go pack, and then the three of you can make quickly for Mirkwood and spend as little time as possible traveling through the High Pass so as to try my nerves as little as possible." 

The young elf pulled back, a wide smile adorning his face, his troubles momentarily forgotten. "Yes, Ada." 

Elrond watched his son leave quietly before turning back to his work. He would take care of the young one's body and pray his best friend could heal his soul. 


	3. Danger's Path

Ah, now, the time you've all been waiting for! *g* The next chapter. *bows flamboyantly then glares at readers who aren't clapping* Anyway, I truly must apologize for this chapter before I let you read it. There's a . . . Certain game that likely has no business in this fic at all, but I needed to do something to get them from Rivendell to Mirkwood, and, unfortunately, I had gone out to eat with my family and was, thus, stuck with my brothers. And if I wanted to, I think I could put more commas in that sentence. Lol. Sorry. Then there's this little time-distance thing I haven't figured out . . . But hopefully I didn't botch it too badly. Now. 

**Deana:** Glad you like, and it's nice to have you along. 

**Grumpy: ***g* No, can't hide it from family, especailly when family are elves. Too perceptive, them beings. *sly look* More chapters or more flashbacks? 

**Nell Marie:** Uh, when did the review not make it? Was ff.net being mean again? I shall have to beat it. I'm so glad you liked that, I hoped it wouldn't be too bad. Heh. Mmm, since I have you here, I might as well tell you I have no more little cutsie stories waiting in the wings. That was my last one unless another challenge comes up that I like or I get a bit of non-third story inspiration. 

**Bill the Pony:** You don't mind that I leave the number off do you? *g* Glad you liked. Bit of humor in this one, too. 

Now, a couple little additional notes. A reviewer on the MC mailing list has requested a change in posting schedule. I might be willing to go to every other day posting, but only if I get a majority request, so if you want it a day earlier, review and leave a note. 

What else was there. . . . Eh, can't think of it. If it's important, I'll remember later and include it in my next post. So, read on, enjoy, and drop a line. It makes me so happy. *g* Share a little joy. Lol. *g* 

Oh, wait! I remember. You might want to get a dictionary out. Unless your vocabulary is super big, you will probably get lost during that certain game I mentioned earlier. Sorry. *winces, then smiles cheerfully* Enjoy!****

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**Chapter 3**

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**Danger's Path**

Even before the first light of dawn crossed the horizon, Aragorn, Elladan, and Elrohir stood outside, making the final touches to ready their horses for their journey. Packs were secured, and bridles and girdles were checked. Finally, everything was deemed ready and the three youth turned to face Lord Elrond. 

Somehow, Aragorn managed to look bone weary and wired at the same time, a contradiction that could not last very long, but Elrond prayed his energy would last until they reached Mirkwood where the young man could crash in safety. 

"Stay safe, my sons," the elf lord bid them quietly, mindful that most were yet sleeping. "And do try and return to me hale." 

This last was answered with smiles, the joke even garnering a response from the mostly subdued human. "We will try, Ada," Elladan spoke for the group, prompting a chuckle from Aragorn. 

"Yes, well. Let's see if you three can achieve a little success this time around while you're at it." 

"Yes, Ada," they chorused. 

"Namarie, ionnath nin," he bid, then watched as the last members of his family climbed atop their horses and left, a last farewell floating back to him. Just as they reached the gates, Aragorn turned back and looked at him. The elf lord read gratitude in that shadowed gaze, and hope. 

It had been long since the young ranger's gaze had held any hope. They rode out of sight and Elrond closed his eyes. So long as the Dúnadan had not given up, there was hope for his healing. 

His thoughts no longer so dark, Lord Elrond turned to go back inside and face the uncertainty of not knowing the fate of his sons until one or all of them returned to him. As long as all three were brought back to him, he could content himself to wait for anything. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Aragorn set the pace for the first leg of their journey. 

Anxious to reach Mirkwood and discover his friend well, he rode hard and fast, forcing the twins to match his stride or be left behind. No one spoke and they entered the High Pass that would lead them through and across the mountain range. 

At Midday, Elladan convinced Aragorn to stop for lunch and give the horses a break, and the three settled down to a brief meal. The ranger watched around them constantly, his anxious behavior unsettling to the two elves. 

"Is something wrong?" Elrohir finally asked. 

The young man jumped, whirling back around to face them, and offered a weak smile. "No, I just hate the delay." 

"We'll get there soon enough, Estel," Elladan offered, his voice soothing. 

Elrohir then spoke up again, his tone wry. "Of course, if we kill the horses, we won't be going anywhere, and with our luck, we'd find orcs as soon as that happened." 

Aragorn smiled as Elladan turned to his brother in mock fear. "Speak not so, brother!" he remonstrated. "It is our luck that once spoken, so happens." 

Aragorn laughed. "He's right, Elrohir. You may have just doomed us all." 

"Uh, well then, if trouble should befall us, you can tell Father it's my fault." 

"We'll take you up on that, too," Elladan told him. "You should hope we run into no trouble, if you're going to take blame." 

"Always," Elrohir replied with a smile. 

Aragorn snorted. 

"You don't believe me." The younger elf looked hurt. 

Aragorn snorted again. "You don't _always_ want to avoid trouble. Hunting Orcs isn't exactly the best way to try and avoid trouble." 

Elrohir opened his mouth, then closed it. "He's got you there, brother," Elladan informed him gleefully. 

"Okay, maybe not _all_ the time. . . . But never when I wish to visit friends." 

Aragorn and Elladan glanced at each other. "Oh, alright. Never when you wish to visit friends," Elladan allowed, and was not contradicted. 

The ranger looked to the east, further along their path, then looked back. "So can we go now?" he asked. 

The twins looked at each other, exchanging an amused glance at the impatience of youth, then stood. "Sure." 

Quickly and efficiently, they cleaned up from their brief camp, eliminating any evidence of their presence. Then they called their horses and mounted, pausing to examine their surroundings before setting off. The elves took it as a good sign that their brother did not immediately return to his headlong rush of earlier and sought to distract him from a similar endeavor, though Elladan did set up a quick and easy pace, the strides long so as to cover much land without wearing out the horses. 

"Would you like to play a game?" Elrohir asked suddenly. 

Both elf and man looked at him questioningly. "A game?" Aragorn echoed doubtfully. 

"What kind of game?" Elladan demanded. 

Elrohir was quiet a long moment, then said, "A word game. The ending letter of one word is the beginning letter of the next word and it proceeds until the next person can no longer think of a word that begins with their letter." 

"There are many words in many languages," Aragorn observed. "Such a game could go on until the end of the ages, and I will not live that long." 

The younger elf leveled a steady glare at the human beside him. "That's why there are restrictions," he asserted. 

"And what restrictions would you have on this game, Elrohir?" Elladan asked, himself somewhat leery. 

"There can be no proper nouns, such as names or places. Each word can of course only be used once, and we'll only use one language. The language shall be Common in order to limit the word choices." 

"It could still go on forever," Aragorn challenged. 

"Not if you only have five minutes to come up with your next word before you lose," he maintained. 

Aragorn and Elladan looked at each other. Elrohir waited expectantly while his two brothers came to an agreement on what to do. Finally, Elladan spoke. "Oh, why not. We shall play your game. Perhaps it will make the wait less tiresome." 

"All right," Elrohir said. "We'll let youngest go first. Choose a letter that begins with an 'a' to start the game, Aragorn." 

The young ranger glacned at them doubtfully, then looked forward to think of a word. "Avenge," he offered. 

"A good one," Elrohir stated energetically. "For mine, I choose. . . . Entice." 

Elladan considered briefly, then, "Expurgate." 

Aragorn shot him an amused look, then said, "Edify." 

Elrohir snorted, already amused with where this game was going. He directed his attention forward, looking among with various rocks, alert for an orc attack. "Yarrow." 

They rounded a turn and were forced to change order as the pass narrowed past where three riders could ride comfortably side-by-side, only to resume the previous order as soon as it widened again. "Hm," Elladan murmured. "A plant was the choice of my twin. What shall be my choice?" He turned shrewd eyes on his two companions. "I shall choose a bird: wren." 

Aragorn laughed. "And what does that leave me with?" he demanded. "Ah, well, let's see what I can come up with to contribute to this game." He glanced down at his hands, then looked at Elrohir with a wicked smile. "Narcotic." 

Elladan burst out laughing. "Shut up, brother," Elrohir muttered. "Catalpa." 

Elladan looked forward. "Orcs!" he cried suddenly. 

Elrohir frowned at him. "That doesn't start with an 'a'." 

"No," Aragorn said, his hand coming up to shake his shoulder. "There are Orcs." Elrohir looked up, then groaned. 

"Now see what you've done, Elrohir," Elladan hissed, amusement flashing in his eyes despite the gravity of the situation. "You should have kept your big mouth shut." 

Elrohir glanced at his brother but did not reply for the horses reared in terror. The three were silent as they struggled to remain atop their mounts. Aragorn was the first to jump off his horse's back, well aware he did not have the strength to fight the creature, then meet the orcs in battle. Elladan and Elrohir soon followed, the eldest giving a command to the horses in elvish, sending the creatures back a few paces, skittering nervously where they halted. 

Elladan stepped forward, half shielding Aragorn and causing the young man to scowl at him. However, despite his irritation, the young man held his tongue. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he knew it was better he not face the brunt of the assault if it was at all possible, and he knew they knew that. 

The three brothers exchanged quick glances, then the goblins charged. 

Elladan met the first attack, his sword firmly countering the initial strike from the foul creature before him. He shoved backwards, knocking the creature off balance and into a few of its fellows. The whole group went down, and were consequently ignored. 

Beside him, Elrohir countered the attacks aimed at him, swinging up quickly in a dangerous move that required perfect timing and even greater strength to avoid being diced in half when one's opponent brought their sword down. His sword impacted the orcs and the other's blade was forced up, leaving him open to attack. The younger elf did not hesitate, but quickly angled his sword down and jebbed it through the other's unprotected neck. He fell, and Elrohir moved to the next one. 

Barely registering the twins who fought near him, Aragorn threw himself into the fight, using all his strength and concentration to repel the vile creatures. He was not quite aware of his motions, allowing instinct to take over, as he fought of beast after beast, each falling before him, but he was cognizant of Elrohir's next statement--barely. 

"Elladan, you still have to say your next word." 

"What?!" the elder twin exclaimed. He spared a glance for his brother, then refocused on the fight. "You have got to be kidding me!" He slashed at an orc who ventured too close, removing the arm the creature that had no more use for it just moments later. 

"Your five minutes are rolling away," Elrohir confirmed. The elf struck horizontally, driving a trio of orcs who had been trying for him back. 

"Oh for love of Arda!" Elladan cried, rolling his eyes. "Oh, fine! Attack!" 

Elrohir laughed. "Your turn, brother," he called back to Aragorn. The only sound that met his ears was the clash of sword on sword, and he turned to see how the human faired. An orc fell to his skill as soon as he turned, but the elf could see his brother was running out of energy, his blows lacking their usual gusto. It reminded him plainly of how he had fought in their last battle against orcs. 

One of the foul creatures had managed to come around behind the trio and Elrohir caught him moving towards Aragorn's unprotected back. He moved forward quickly and cut off the attack before it could fall, removing the creature's head with satisfaction. The young human turned, startled, then smiled weakly before returning his attention forward toward the press of orcs awaiting his blade. 

"Aragorn!" Elrohir called. "What's your word?" 

"What?" 

"Your word." 

Aragorn frowned. "What did Elladan say?" He slashed at another orc who appeared in his line of sight, halting the descent of the other's blade. The human pushed it back and stepped forward, then slammed his fist into the other's face. The orc stumbled backwards into one of his companions, cutting off that one's attack. In his fury, the orc attacked his kin, killing him for getting in the way. 

"Attack," Elrohir answered with a snort, blocking his own orcs. Already they had made fair progress and the number of enemies coming at them had dwindled to roughly a dozen. 

"Kill," Aragorn said, too distracted to truly give any thought to the game, merely spouting the first word that came to mind with the right letter. Another orc fell to the young man's blade and he stumbled. 

Elrohir jumped forward, blocking his younger brother from the orcs who wished to take advantage of his weakness, and removed two from the running. Suddenly Elladan was beside him and the six orcs who faced them were quickly eliminated, felled by ruthlessly accurate strikes that lacked finese but made up for it in efficiency. 

The younger elf observed the pass with bodies littering it with a slight frown on his face. Elladan moved over to Aragorn. "Are you alright?" 

Aragorn breathed heavily, doing his best to combat the fatigue that was pulling at him and keep the world from spinning around him. "For once." 

"Good." He looked over towards the horses and whistled softly. Obediently, the creatures moved forward to their owners. Tiredly, Aragorn pulled himself back up, Elladan following close behind. 

Elrohir turned to look at the both of them. "Loathe," he announced, then jumped onto the back of his stead. 

Elladan gave his twin a dark look and started his horse moving forward. Aragorn followed quietly, fatigue pulling heavily at him. The younger elf followed with an incredulous look. "What?" he asked. 

His elder brother merely shook his head. "I can't believe you." 

"What?" 

"Insisting on that stupid game in the middle of a fight." Elladan glanced back at him. "You've finally lost it." 

"Oh, come on." 

"No, you have," the eldest insisted. He glanced back at Aragorn to see how he fared and noticed the young human was nearly asleep, his silver eyes half-lidded and his posture slouched. Had they been anywhere else, he would have called a halt right then and there. As it was, he dared not stop so near an orc attack so far from the end of the pass. With a sigh he turned back around. "We must go on." Elrohir nodded, having also noticed Estel. "Egregious." 

The twins fell silent, considering the human to be asleep. Their eyes scanned their surroundings carefully. Aragorn, meanwhile, was trying to get his mind to function and his eyes to stay open. He did not want his mind working and his eyes closed, but he did not want to fall asleep either, especially since that amounted to the same thing. In a last ditch attempt to fend off sleep, he turned his attention to the game. "Strive," he announced. 

Both elves jumped at his unexpected comment. Elladan frowned. "We thought you were sleeping." 

He shook his head. "Can't sleep." 

"Why not?" Elrohir asked gently. 

Aragorn fell silent. This was not what he wanted to talk about. Why he had told them he could not sleep was beyond him. That was something they were not supposed to know, though he figured they had suspected that much any way. He frowned and simply stared into the distance, praying they would drop this subject and continue the game. 

Elrohir glanced back at him, noting the set of the human's jaw and the set lines of his face. For whatever reason, Aragorn did not want to talk to them about his troubles, and pressing when he was tired was never productive. The obstinate side of the young man seemed to flare beyond reason when he was exhausted. How he could be more stubborn when lacking strength than he was at full strength, Elrohir could not fathom, but it did not change that truth. He sighed. "Elusive." 

Elladan chuckled. "Empathize," he agreed. 

Aragorn smiled slightly, catching what they were doing. He was too tired to take offense, even mock offense, and so let it go . . . until his mind locked on a word he rather liked. Plus, it had another use. "Emulate," he offered quietly, bare hints of a cheeky smile in his tone. 

"Ai, brother," Elrohir said with a slight twinkle in his eye, "he still has enough brains to tease. Mayhap we should send him back to the orcs." 

"Do you think Father would mind?" Elladan asked with a frown, as if he was giving the notion serious thought. 

Elrohir waved his hand dismissively. "So long as we bring him back alive, Father would never know." 

Elladan looked at him doubtfully. "Nay, Estel would tell him. Besides, where would we find the Orcs? All the ones who attacked us are dead and we have seen no more since." 

"Oh," the younger elf murmured. "Well, perhaps not, then." He thought for a moment. "Ensnare." 

With a sideways glance, Elladan leaned towards his twin. "Ennui." 

Elrohir slapped at him, a move which the other dodged easily. "You are not." 

"Are so," Elladan defended. "After Orcs, word games are quite dull." 

The younger elf snorted. "Now _you_'ve gone and done it," he said. 

The twins continued to bicker back and forth, offering words at intervals between their contest of words, and Aragorn offered up his own when his turn came, mostly keeping them simple while he thought of other things. 

Without his permission, his mind turned to another time when he had crossed this same pass, or tried to, alone. He had been sixteen, then, and tired of being protected. Like all teenagers, he thought he knew everything there was to know about everything that was important. Then, when he was told he could not accompany the twins on a visit to Mirkwood, he made up his mind to follow them. 

It had been the middle of winter and any sane person would have realized traveling the High Pass in such weather was a bad idea, but Estel had not been thinking about the advisability of such an action, he just wanted to be seen as grown-up. 

Snow blanketed the floor of the pass about two feet deep where there were no drifts or rocks to change the elevation. In parts, one could make out boulders under the white perfection. Elladan and Elrohir had rode out early in the morning, well aware there was a storm coming later that evening and that they wanted to be well on their way through the pass before it struck. 

Estel had not known, and did not ask. He merely packed a bag with what supplies he thought he would need and wrapped himself up in a couple layers. Pride kept him from truly preparing for the cold, for the elves did not dress extra warmly for the winter months. To his mind, it was a mark of weakness that he had to wear more, a failing, a difference he did not want to have. 

Then he left, in the middle of the afternoon, just after lunch, when no one would miss his presence, dressed for a cool winter's day with his small bag of provisions. The boy would have taken his horse, but there were too many people there who would question where he was going and he could not tell them, so he had walked or run. 

Looking back, Aragorn easily saw how foolish he had been, but youth seems to require learning lessons the hard way, and he knew he had not wanted to listen when he was told he was not ready for such a journey. But he did not. 

It was nearing dark when he finally made the pass, and Estel had begun to shiver from the falling temperature. Had his pride not been so strong, he might have turned and headed back. 

He remembered pausing at the mouth of the pass, studying it closely. He remembered thinking, looking at the high walls standing imposingly on each side, firm and unyielding, uncompromising in forcing itself up into the sky, that perhaps it was not such a good idea to follow on his own. He remembered turning back around as if to go home. 

Then he had thought of how his brothers had gone, and he was lost. With youthful indignation he had plowed forward, determined to show his family that he was not helpless and was capable of more than they thought. 

_Unfortunately_, Aragorn thought with the clarity of age, _I only succeeded in proving I was a child._

Two hours after he had entered, the storm had hit in its full fury. Too late to turn back, nowhere to turn to the side, Estel had pushed on forward, fighting against the frigid wind that whipped down the pass with multiplied force. It had not taken long before the cold became more than he could bear. 

~*~ 

Estel staggered forward, one hand holding the hood of his cloak up to cover his face as the wind tried to rip it off. The stinging cold bit at the expose skin on his hand and passed straight through his clothing, never mind that there were several layers. His lips were turning blue and his teeth chattered uncontrollably. Snow pelted at his face, chaffing what it could reach and stinging his eyes. Through the cloud of white and the blurriness of tears, the young human could make out nothing in front of him. 

He took a step forward, and almost immediately lost his balance as his foot came down on a rock, twisting and dumping him to the floor. A partially stiffled cry of pain was swallowed by the howling of the wind as the youth grabbed at the protesting limb, desperate to ease the pain. 

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut in an effort to block out the pain (an effort that did not work) and rocked slightly. The intense shivering that plagued him did nothing to ease the pain, and Estel desperately wished he were back at Rivendell, safe and warm by one of the fires in the Great Hall. 

Knowledgable enough to realize he could not remain where he was, the boy pulled himself sideways towards the half-glimpsed pass wall a couple feet to his right. The jostling sent fire racing up his leg and rung a whimper from proud lips. He did not stop, however, and bore the pain as best he could, well aware that he had brought it upon himself. 

When he finally reached the wall, he attempted to pull himself up, only to discover he was shaking so badly that he could barely control his arms, much less find enough strength to lever himself to his feet. He collapsed back to the snow covered floor, sending up a small flurry of snow that was quickly flung further down the pass. 

Miserable, he pulled his feet up to his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around them. He sniffed pittifully and blinked rapidly, hoping to keep the tears from falling. The last thing he needed was to be caught with icicle tears on his cheeks. 

Depressed, he wondered exactly _who_ he was afraid would find him. 

~*~ 

_That was not fun,_ Aragorn decided. _A rather unpleasant forerunner to that trip with Dryrn, though at least when I was sixteen it was my own stupidity that got me into the mess in the first place. _

He shook his head ruefully, and glanced at the twins who were arguing playfully amongst themselves, rather heatedly, but playfully nonetheless. Their words echoed off the stone walls around them, causing the ranger a moment of concern. They were louder than a hoarde of orcs! 

He snorted, hoping they were paying attention to their surroundings while they were arguing, for he could not keep his eyes open well enough. In any case, he would gladly blame any further orc attacks on the both of them. . . . 

~*~ 

How long he crouched there, against the unforgiving expanse of stone, Estel was never certain, but it had felt like a long time. In that time, the temperature had dropped drastically and he had begun to lose feeling in his arms and legs. 

Deciding he needed to do something quickly to warm up, he had once again started moving, this time forgoing the notion of standing. The youth crawled quickly--as quickly as he was able, at least, considering the snow was two feet deep. He was more swimming through it than crawling, actually, but after a while, the distinction made little difference. 

Whether you wanted to call it crawling or swimming, he was going nowhere fast. 

It was getting harder and harder to stay awake. It was almost impossible to move his arms and legs, the snow having soaked into his clothing and refrozen. Slowly, too, he was ceasing to shiver, his body temperature dropping. Soon, he was even beginning to feel quite warm. 

Distantly, he realized this was probably a bad thing. That he should feel warmth when he should still be freezing was a sign of trouble, but his weary and frozen mind could not find any cause for concern as it sunk further into oblivion. 

He made one last effort to move forward, and was vaguely aware that something blocked his path. Hesitantly, he glanced up, and up. A tall form stood before him, clutching at something on his head. 

The image swum out of focus and Estel blinked forcefully, not sure exactly what to make of what he saw. The figure stooped, and he came face to face with warm brown eyes which studied him intently. His brow scrunched up in a frown as he tried to figure out who this person was that was crazy enough to be out in this storm. 

As if from far off he heard, "My, my, what have we here?" 

Then his mind sunk away into blissful sleep, sheltered in a warm cocoon, and he knew no more. 

~*~ 

"Middle-earth to Estel. Come in, far wanderer." 

He blinked rapidly, surprised to find himself staring into matching blue eyes that looked both amused and concerned. "What?" he asked, then realized they were stopped and wondered when that had happened. 

Elrohir chuckled. "Humans have some odd habits when they sleep," he observed, and turned his mount, kicking slightly with his heel, a motion that barely made contact with the creature's side, to start it moving. The other two followed until they had resumed the quick loping stride that would eat up the ground the quickest. 

"What habits do you mean?" he asked, deciding he might get a better answer if he made his question more specific, still hightly confused. 

"He means you were talking in your sleep, Estel," Elladan spoke up, apparently of a mood to deny his twin his fun, and not of a mood to unduly torment his youngest brother. 

Aragorn was incredibly grateful for both, as he did not think he was up to puzzling out what his brothers would say. "I was?" 

Elrohir shot Elladan a glare. "Yes." 

"About what?" 

"You started mumbling something about it being cold," Elladan answered, giving him an odd frown. "What were you dreaming about?" 

The young ranger frowned, then shook his head. "Nothing important," he said, then he pursed his lips and took in his surroundings. "I'm just glad there's no snow." With that, he sent a wicked grin over his shoulder at the two elves, then sent his horse into a head-long gallop. 

Startled cries of outrage chased him, followed by the pounding of horses hooves. To himself, he added, _And that you are with me, even if I don't deserve you._


	4. Mirkwood

Hi! Ready for the next chapter? Well, ready or not, here it comes. *g* lol. Guess what. . . . They get to Mirkwood in this chapter! No? Yes. And guess what that means. No, you'll have to guess. *g* Ok. 

**Grumpy:** *runs and grabs dictionary, then flips through the pages* Let's see. Egregious means extemely bad, or the archaic form which means remarkable, and now I can't remember which I meant. Ah, well. They both work. *g* Ennui means boredom. Hope that helps. 

**Nell Marie:** Could have, yes, but it seems no one else wanted to vote. *sigh* So we get to stick with every two day posting. Lol. Yeah, well, they're scholars as well as warriors. Why wouldn't they be good at it? *g* hehe. Sure, you can play. What's the word? 

**Bill the Pony:** lol. Mm, it made me sleepy, too. Course, I was sleepy when I wrote it. It was about two in the morning. *g* ****

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****Enjoy! And don't forget to review. *g* I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as all the others.****

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**Chapter 4**

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**Mirkwood**

Not too soon for Aragorn, the three riders finally left the High Pass behind them, a steadily receding edifice that held no truly good memories for the ranger. 

They had been silent for many hours, and the human was amused to note Elrohir must have forgotten about his own game, so lost in thought was he. He was probably busy trying to unravel what Aragorn had been refering to. He nearly laughed, but managed to remain silent, though a smile crept onto his face. He wondered how long it would be before the elf remembered. 

The trip through Mirkwood's forests was conducted in silence, each member tense and watchful, scanning the forests for any threat. The dark trees loomed, and to Aragorn's mind, seemed to stretch towards them, eager to snag them in their grasps. The shadows warped, reaching. . . . 

The ranger shook his head sharply, then looked around again. Trees were just trees again, but a slightly sick feeling had settled in the pit of his stomach. What if the Ungwale had not been neutralized? Elrond had deemed him poison-free upon his return to Rivendell, but what if the elf lord was wrong? He did not remember receiving any antidote. Actually, he did not remember a lot of things. The Dúnadan wished Kalya had stuck around. He had so many questions. 

"We'll stop here," Elladan suddenly announced, drawing Aragorn away from his thoughts. 

"What?" 

"It's getting late," the eldest said. "We should rerst here and then continue on to the palace in the morning." 

Aragorn stayed where he was as his brothers swung off their horses, preparing to set up camp. Wide eyes regarded their surroundings, taking in the dark trees and shadows that surrounded him. If he could not sleep in a non-threatening environment such as Rivendell, what hope had he for sleeping here? He turned back to them. "I'd rather continue traveling now." 

Both looked up, surprised. They had thought, with how tired the human was, Aragorn would be grateful for the respite in thier journey. Few stops had been made on the way, and rarely were they for rest. It was with great concern that they noted fear in their younger brother's eyes. He had never feared the forests of Mirkwoos before, been wary of them, yes, but not feared. 

Unsure, they turned to look at each other, wordless questions passing between them, communicated with simple looks. Eventuallly, they came to a conclusion. Elladan nodded, "Alright, Estel. We'll continue on, but I wish you would tell us what troubles you so. You know we would help if we could." 

The ranger looked away, swallowing hard. Yes, he did, or he thought he did. They always had before, and he had no reason to think they would not now. Yet he would just be proving how weak he was, and since there was likely nothing they could do about it anyway, there was no reason to reveal his troubles. 

He looked back and tried to smile. "I know." 

The twins pulled themselves back up and settled into their saddles, loosely holding the reins in their hands (they had taken to using saddles and such when dealing with humans so as not to attract undue attention). With a soft word, they were off again, cantering through the night. 

It was nearing sundown on their sixth day out from Rivendell when the trio finally arrived at the gates to King Thranduil's palace, much to Aragorn's relief. They slowed from the headlong rush, gradually, until they reached a gentle walk--a speed more proper to enter a kingdom when lacking an emergency--and finally passed into the home of the Wood-elves realm. Aragorn's sharp eyes searched quickly for the familiar form of his friend, but found it lacking: Legolas was not there. 

Another blonde-haired elf approached, expression solemn, and bowed. "Friends of old, welcome to the Grand Palace of Mirkwood, home of King Thranduil. Hail and well met." Aragorn wondered why he looked familiar. 

Elladan and Elrohir returned the greeting with equal solemnity, while the ranger managed to nod his greeting, a creeping horror knawing away at the pit of his stomach and a hysterically jabbering voice yammering at the back of his mind that the prince was dead and it was somehow his fault, the dour attitude of the guard doing nothing to counter his fears that the worst had come to pass, though nothing of the sort was said. 

They were gestured inside and led towards the stables. Once they dismounted the guard's demeanor changed. "Elladan, Elrohir, Strider. It has been too long since your last visit. Prince Legolas has been wondering after you three ceaselessly. Especially you, youg Strider," he added with a wide grin, which allowed the human to place him--Doril, one of Legolas' friends whose duty on guard always kept him at the palace--and would have irritated him at any other time. "He knows how much trouble loves finding you. In fact, I'm sure he'll be delighted when he finds out you're here." 

Doril started leading them towards the palace. "He should be around any time. Went of with Raniean and Trelan to the North-lands on some business for his father. When he gets back, well, he'll probably forget every ounce of decorum Thranduil ever taught him and tackle you all in his exurberence." 

The elves laughed, thoroughly enjoying themselves and the picture Doril had painted of the reserved elven prince, and got a little ahead of the human, who was still trying to process the information he had been given. Namely: Legolas was fine. 

He felt shaky, like he had been holding a heavy load for many hours and had only now been relieved of that burden, just before it would have crushed him, barely able to hold his own weight. Trembling began in his hands and he forced it away, clasping his hands behind him. To show weakness in such a place of strength--for it was by thier own power that the Wood-elves kept the creeping darkness of Dol Guldor at bay--was beyond shaming. 

Suddenly, he felt eyes on him and looked up, for he had glanced quiltily at his hands, and found three pairs of elvish eyes on him, staring at him questioningly. 

A guilty flush tried to carress his cheeks, but he merely straightened, pushing aside the emotion and did his best to convince himself there was nothing to be ashamed of. For someone who somehow managed to convince himself that he was to blame for everything the ever went wrong, that proved remarkably difficult. He smiled, then picked up his pace and managed a measure of light-heartedness he did not feel. "Tis your elven speed, my friends. Mortal legs simply cannot keep pace." 

Doril laughed, his fair voice dancing musically, seeming to mix with laughter from the trees. "Well, then, in wit, at least, you are not out-classed, dear Strider. But then, you learned from the best." 

Aragorn glanced at his brothers when the group finally turned their attention away from him as they walked and noted the twins seemed to have finally relaxed. As consumed as he was in his desire to find Legolas, he had not missed the worried tension in his brothers. It hurt to know he was the cause of the shadows that flickered behind their eyes, no matter how unintentional or beyond control it was. 

It was secrets that hurt his family, he knew, and he wished it could be otherwise, but it would hurt them far more to discover what they had known from the beginning: that he was untrustworthy and weak, no better than Isildur who brought upon his own death by keeping the One Ring and earning the ill-favor of the elves, dividing the two kingdoms that had once been close. 

They should have stuck with their original decision, a story told to him by Rowyn, he decided. He had dismissed it as a child for a hurtful lie with the warmth of his adopted family's love behind him. As an adult, he knew it was simply a painful truth that had lost its power with time. 

They were led to their rooms--adjacent to Legolas' as it had been deemed futile to keep the friends apart, especially when one of them was injured--to drop off their small packs. 

He looked up to see Elladan and Elrohir leaning in the doorway. Elladan smiled. "Doril just got off-duty. Would you care to join in innocent fun while we wait for Legolas?" 

Aragorn shook his head with a soft--and gneuine--chuckle. "No, I think not. Feel free to leave me out of this one. I remember what happened last time." He was silent a moment, thinking of just that event. "I'll wait here, rest, perhaps." 

"Suit yourself," Elrohir said, "but you're missing out." Grinning, both left, and the ranger was once again alone. 

The ranger sighed at the thought, then laughed ruefully, an irony he had never before considered occuring to him. Alone in his travels, he wished he could return home to the company of his family and friends. Amidst those he cared about and who cared about him, he desired nothing more than to be alone. A bitter existence, then, he decided, for he was ever doomed to desire something he could not have: in attaining one, he lost the other. What a sorry sight he was. 

_"Self pity does not become you."_

The words echoed, unexpectedly, through his mind in the voice of the one who had said them not so long ago, bringing both solace and pain. He remembered wanting his brothers' company. Then, once he had it, he told them to leave--albiet not in those words. Now, he felt a pang at their absence. 

Disgust firmly crowding out pity, he irritably strode to the small closet on the far side of the room. Years ago, before responsibilities interfered, Thranduil had remarked that Strider spent so much time in Mirkwood with Legolas that he might as well live here. Legolas had used that as a jumping point and claimed the rooms next to his were, henceforth, Strider's. It followed logically, then, that the ranger would also keep some belongings in Mirkwood. Thus it was that when Aragorn opened the door to his closet, his own clothes could be seen. 

Three outfits, complete outfits--two casual, one dress--occupied the small space. The number of times had had arrived at Thranduil's door with Legolas, filthy, injured, clothes in rags could no longer be counted. In an effort to save the residents' wardrobes that were sacrificed to re-cloth him (as well as grant the ranger more comfort--elven finery hung uneasily on him, even when basic), it had been proclaimed that some of the Dúnadan's own outfits would be transferred to Mirkwood for keeping, and would there be cleaned and maintained. 

Picturing the encounter, Aragorn pulled out one of those outfits and proceeded to exchange dirty wear for clean, paying no heed to his own filthy form. Then, dressed, at least, in clean clothes, Aragorn collapsed into a chair. 

The good memories relaxed him, undoing his near-strangle hold on consciousness, and allowed the exhausted ranger to drop off to sleep. It was a shame, then, that the images which replaced conscious thought were not so pleasant. 

~*~ 

Aragorn giggled happily. He had done it. He had slipped away from the nursery and the strange beings with strange ears who said strange things. Elfses, his mother had said. 

He giggled again, pleased with his accomplishment. That he now found himself in an unfamiliar hall that was really big dampened his happiness not at all. That he was in reality lost had yet to occur to him. 

He look around him to see if anyone had found him yet. Plenty of light illuminated the hall and he could see far down it both ways. No tall figure stood down either direction, hands on hips and scolding him. He giggled again. No one had found him yet. 

The little boy of two skipped slightly, a kind of little hop that was a cross between a jump and a run. He wanted to play. No toys were anywhere in sight, so he decided to look for them. A big place like this had to have plenty of toys. 

His little feet pattered softly on the marble floor as he ran, occassionally stopping to explore this or that, enchanted by the flowing marks on the walls. He touched one, deciding he would like to draw on the wall like that, then moved on. 

After a while, he decided to look for Mommy. He had not seen her in a long time, and he missed her. He wanted to show her all the neat things he had found. The little boy started down the hall, looking around for his mother, calling for her softly. 

~~~~ 

Anxious faces watched apprehensively as Lord Elrond worked quickly to try and save the woman in his care. Blood seeped in a seemingly endless flow out of the still figure, straining the white sheets beneath the pale body with an ever-growing puddle of blood. Nothing was working to staunch the deadly flow, and the woman's breathing progressively slowed as it became more labored, and they knew. 

Despite the elf lords superior skill and best efforts, all knew they were going to lose her. The wound was simply too terrible. 

Finally, Gilrean's breathing stoppped, her chest rising and falling no more. Silence reigned, each alone with his thoughts. Sadly, Elrond pulled a white sheet over her body, concealing the angry wound that had proven too much for the strong willed woman of proud lineage. Her soul fled after husband's to the Halls of Mandos and beyond, lost forever to those still living on Middle-earth, content in the knowledge that she got Aragorn, the last hope of men, of his people, her only son, to safety among the elves. 

Sorrow hung in the air. To lose one being was terrible. To lose two, especially so needlessly, was worse. Then, there was the child that was left behind to consider. Elrond frowned thoughtfully, still staring at the prone form before him. 

Glorfindel was the first to breech the silence which hung over the room like a shroud. "What should we do about the boy?" 

Elrond did not respond. Elladan reacted as if he had been slapped. "About the boy? What do you think we should do with the boy?" he demanded as if it should be obvious, sorrow and guilt quickly turned to anger in his voice. "He must go back to his people." 

"It is not so simple," Glorfindel objected, slowly shaking his head. "His mother risked so much to bring him here, believing we would keep him safe. Could we really turn him away?" 

"And why not?" Tirian charged, leveling a stern gaze at the light haired elf. "He is not an elf. He needs to be with his own kind." 

"Gilrean brought him here to keep him safe. He is heir to the throne of Gondor. If the Enemy were to discover him, it would be disasterous." 

"His ancestors were disasters!" Tirian exclaimed, garnering a dark look from Elrond that went unnoticed. 

Elrohir's voice was a match to his brother's, loud and angry, when he replied. "He doesn't belong here! The concerns of men are none of our concern." 

"Oh, so you don't mind hunting Orcs with them, but the more general requirements of friendship are beyond you." Glorifindel folded his arms across his chest. 

"Have you forgotten what Isildur did?" Elladan exclaimed. "That little whelp is just a product of him, and just as weak! His mother is dead. His people are the only things he has left, and we are not them. He does not belong here." 

A small sniffle, and a whisper of "Mommy," froze the occupants of the room in surprise. Every face turned to look at the small little figure who stood in the doorway. Large blue eyes stared at them, tears shimmering in their depths as a bottom lip began to tremble. 

With the insinct of all children, little Aragorn knew they were talking about him, that they were mad at him. It did not matter that he did not know why, simply that they were. Children who angered adults were punished. A small whimper escaped him and the little body darted out of the room, a blur of color as he raced away from the anger and the people who did not like him. 

Away from the place he did not belong. 

~*~ 

Lost in the painful half-memory formed from vague feelings of that time and things he had heard in his youth, Aragorn shifted in his sleep. Just barely, a pained cry could be heard, pulled from his throat by the pain of rejection that he saw. Relieved of restraint by repose, he could not keep the weakness he so desperately hid at bay, thrashing slightly as he unconsciously tried to escape what had no bonds. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Legolas bid his friends good-bye as they turned their seperate ways, Raneian and Trelan returning to their duties as the elf prince turned towards his room. He smiled as he thought of his friends and how much fun they had had while running such a mundane errand for his father, the kind he hated because they were so very dull. His heart was still light from their banter and the joy of being in their presence. 

_The only thing that would have made it better,_ he mused, _is if Aragorn were here._

He sighed. Two years had passed since he had last seen the young man, since thier last adventure had turned into a struggle and they had dragged themselves back to Rivendell with multiple cuts and bruises and other injuries that needed to be tended by the elven lord. He snorted as he caught himself missing those times. 

_Great, now I know I'm insane. I actually miss being tortured._ He also knew he would gladly face anything to help his friend. It still amazed him that the he had grown so close to the Dúnadan after hating men for so very long. But he was over that, and he missed the feeling not at all. 

Not since Dorolyn had how quickly things could change been driven into him so forcefully nor so clearly. In the flash of an eye, it seemed, his perceptions had turned one-hundred-eighty degrees around. Twice. He shook his head ruefully. Full circle, and he could not convince himself to regret any of it, not even to escape the pain. 

The prince paused as he reached his friend's door, half wishing it would open to reveal a smiling young man dressed in a filthy leather overcoat. If only Aragorn was an elf, he would not have to be concerned with the passage of time. _As concerned,_ Legolas corrected himself, remembering the trouble that seemed to follow the human everywhere. He would not change the man, of course, but he wished, at times when he allowed himself to consider the fact that he would one day lose his friend, that the Doom of Men was not his lot. 

He glanced down, then started walking again. It would do him no good to dwell on things he could not change and would only serve to depress him. Eventually, the ranger would wander back around to Mirkwood as soon as his duties allowed; Legolas would just have to be patient. 

Two steps from the door, he froze, a puzzled frown momentarily marring his fair features. A sound had reached his ears, a whimper, from the room behind him. That was impossible, though, for no one stayed in that room save Aragorn, and Strider was out with the rangers, working to protect the peoples of their now divided kingdom, a duty they had claimed long ago and took very seriously. 

Yet the sound repeated itself, and this time he could not dismiss it as his imagination. Cautiously, he walked back and reached for the doornob, turning it slowly while trying to remain as quiet as possible so as not to alert the intruder to his presence. 

The door opened on silent hinges, and Legolas peered into the dark chamber with keen eyes, just catching sight of a still figure slouched in the chair by the window. Weak light streamed in, just sufficient enough to shilouet the figure and hinder his attempts to identify who trespassed in his friend's room. 

A touch angry, he abandoned caution and strode across the room, ready to throw the intruder out on his rear. When he could finally make the individual out, however, his mind skidded to a halt along with his body, all thoughts of _doing_ anything fleeing in the face of his shock, which momentarily froze him to the spot. 

Before his eyes sat Strider, living and breathing, seemingly whole. At least, Death seemed not to have caught him yet and no injuries were bandaged, but the elf could not claim the other to be in good health. Concern clouded his eyes when he noted the other's pale complexion and the dark circles under his eyes, the tension in his features while he slept. The man's eyes twitched under closed lids, his head jerking slightly, restlessly. 

_He's having a nightmare,_ Legolas realized suddenly, then could have slapped himself for simply staring when he should be waking the other up. 

He stepped forward to shake the young man-- 

Only to have the other's eyes fly open before he could touch him, jerking backwards. Legolas flinched back in surprise before he could stop himself, the glazed horror in the man's eyes surprising him. Then he stepped forward and clasped the other's arm. "Are you alright?" he asked intently. 

Aragorn's silver eyes, overly bright, focused almost desperately on his own. The intensity of the gaze, combined with the emotion he saw there, confused the elf prince. Aragorn looked like he was seeing a ghost he desperately wished to be real, a dream; or like he had lost someone and now found himself before them and could not even believe his own eyes. 

Then, slowly, the look disappeared and a smile spread over the ranger's face, erasing the other expression so completely that Legolas could almost believe he had imagined it. "Legolas. It has been too long, mellon nin." 

The blonde haired elf smiled. "Indeed. You stayed away too long, Strider." 

Despite the slight look of pain that flickered in his depths, the other smiled mischieviously. "I thought two years was but a blink of an eye to an elf." 

His smile widened, but he decided not to continue the taunting. "What fair winds bring you to Mirkwood?" 

"I chanced to gain some time to myself." 

"And Elrond did not threaten to chain you to a wall to keep you in Imladris?" Legolas asked with poorly concealed amusement. 

Aragorn's lips twitched. "Actually, my father tends to prefer we be elsewhere when me and my brothers spend any time together. He says the house is likely to survive longer that way." 

Legolas laughed and dropped down onto the edge of the bed. "Which goes double whenever I join you." 

Aragorn chuckled softly, unconsciously rubbing at his eyes. 

A shadowed look of concern replaced the jovality in the prince's eyes. "You seem tired, my friend. Have you long taken to sleeping in chairs instead of your bed?" 

The faintest hint of a blush crept onto the other's face, and silver eyes darted away from intent blue. "It is nothing to be concerned over, Legolas." 

A frown creased the elven brow while the concern deepened. Almost anything Aragorn dismissed as nothing and refused to talk about was never the nothing he claimed it to be and was, indeed, usually quite serious. "Talk to me, Aragorn. I may not be able to help, but I would hear what troubles you." Wary eyes glanced at him. "Please, mellon nin. It hurts to see you in pain, especially when I know not why." 

Aragorn glanced down, sliding down in his seat so that his legs splayed out before him and he was only half seated in the chair, nearly falling out of it. It looked nothing like the bearing of a king, but of a disconsolate and discontent child, and had the situation been not so tense, he would have laughed. The man picked idly at the hem of his shirt, running his hand along the frayed fabric that was nearing the end of its life. Legolas waited. 

Finally, the Dúnadan sighed. He had long told Legolas everything, for the elf was the one being Aragorn trusted to not expect him to be king. "I find I do not want to sleep," he admitted. "Shadows in my mind steal away peaceful sleep, even in Rivendell, and I find no rest. Dreams, nightmares, disturb my slumber, and I am surprised I have not yet woken screaming for more than once I feel I should have and yet no one has heard." 

The elf blinked. He thought he knew why Aragorn had not wanted to speak of this, but he did not agree with it. The human should talk to his family, but nothing he could say would convince the young one, so he would do what he could. "What kind of dreams, mellon nin?" he inquired. 

"Terrible. I do not wish to remember." 

"Alright. What started them?" 

The gaze that had been fixed unwavering on the floor, studying it as if with great interest and yet not really seeing it at all finally lifted, though not to focus on the being to which the words were directed. The silver eyes drifted past his shoulder to focus on the joint between two walls and the ceiling, a triangle that seemed to narrow his focus and held it as steadily as if it were presenting information for some test the human dared not fail. 

"Two weeks ago I journeyed into the Misty Mountains seeking the source of destruction that had waylaid many travelers and were a menace to nearby populations. People dared not travel, and rumor came to the Dúnadain. I decided to seek out this thing and deal with it if possible. 

"Well, we both know how often my plans go as planned. I found them, but they also found me. The leader of the group who had been hauting the Wilds and Ettenmoors shot me with an arrow laced with Ungwale, a drug that wreaks havoc on your mind while taunting your body. It showed me many things and it was only with the help of a friend that I was able to escape the darkness' pull. 

"Eventually, we reached the pass where we could gain the antidote and were caught. I remember little of what came next, but the poison was neutralized and I arrived in time to see my friend cut down, then had to fight for my life against numerous foes. Elladan and Elrohir arrived soon after, with Orcs trailing Elrohir." A smile crossed his lips and his eye finally met the prince's. "You should ask him about it sometime." Then the gaze drifted away again. "We engaged the Orcs, this time with the help of those who had been trying to kill us. The Orcs were slaughtered and they were called away. By Sauron, if my guess is right." 

"Who is 'they'?" Legolas asked after a moment. 

Aragorn laughed slightly, a tired sound that the elf felt was out of place coming from his friend. "That, my friend, is the question that started this all. But now I have an answer: the Slyntari." 

"Slyntari?" he echoed, frowning. "I've never heard of them." 

"I was told to ask Lord Elrond, for he would surely know. I discovered they were something of a secret society started back in the days of the Last Alliance to oppose the power of the Dúnadain and take revenge. Many of the members are Black Númenoreans who despise the Rangers. Others are simply evil men snared by the Enemy." 

"Yet they are powerful," Legolas guessed. 

"And skilled." 

A fair eyebrow was raised before Legolas could stop himself. "And yet you defended yourself against many of them, single-handed." 

Aragorn sat forward. "They were young, trained but not seasoned, over-eager. They were little more than children, Legolas. Many of them even younger than I." 

The other eyebrow joined its companion near his hairline. "I see. But what does that have to do with your nightmares now?" 

The ranger slumped backwards once more. "I have no idea." His eyes blinked slowly. "I had hoped that coming here would stop them, but that seems not to be so." 

"I don't understand." 

"No, I do not expect you would, but your presence helps just the same. As did Elrohir and Elladan being near, but the pain is still there, lurking, waiting for me to let down my guard and I cannot sleep or it takes over." 

"You have not told your family this," Legolas observed neutrally. 

"I can't!" Aragorn cried, surging to his feet to pace restlessly. "They can't know or they might. . . . They might. . . ." He would not finish the sentence, trailing off miserably into silence, halting his hasty steps. 

"They might what?" Legolas prompted softly. 

The reply, when it came, was so low the elf almost missed it. "I can't lose them." 

Confusion clouded clear blue eyes, then the nimble elf stood and walked over to his friend. He gripped the other's shoulders firmly, shaking slightly to emphasize his point. "You won't." 

"If they knew, I would." 

Legolas blinked as realization slid into place. "I know. Do you fear you will lose me as well?" 

Hesitant silver eyes regarded him, looking hearbreakingly vulnerable, and the elf had his answer. Giving into a rare and very human impulse, he pulled the human into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around the man's form and pulling him close. With his lips close to the other's ears he whispered, loud enough that he knew he would be heard, "You will never lose my friendship, Aragorn. My friendship is forever, and I will not leave you. There is not a thing you could do that would change that." 

A sob escaped the ranger's lips, and the man's grip tightened. Tears that Legolas felt had desired escape for too long began to flow. Holding tightly to his friend, Legolas pulled his unresisting friend over to sit on the edge of the bed. 

How long they sat thus, the blonde-haired elf could not say, nor did he attempt to measure the time, nor did he seek to stem the flow of grief from the man that he held. This release was long overdue and he would do nothing to interrupt it. Finally, though, it slowed, then stopped, and the chin that had pressed almost painfully into his shoulder was removed. He felt Aragorn turn his head and rest it against his shoulder, snifling occassionally as he calmed down. 

It warmed his heart to witness the child-like gestures in one who insisted he was a grown man. To his mind, it said that despite the troubles they had been through, the difficult experiences, that his friend yet retained some innocence, was yet young. It meant that the young man he had met on the edge of Mirkwood's forests with an irrepressible spirit and a ready smile was not yet driven away by the harsh reality of life on Middle-earth. He prayed that the change he knew must occur would be a long time coming. 

Then Aragorn pulled back and wiped at his eyes, smiling self-conscioiusly. "I feel like such an idiot." 

Legolas smiled back. "I won't tell if you won't," he teased. "But I rather enjoyed it." 

The ranger blinked. "Enjoyed me making a fool of myself?" he demanded, incredulous. 

"It feels good to be trusted with something from my friend that I know has been shared with no one else in a very long time," the elf admitted quietly. "And it is nice to be needed for something other than my skills at dealing death." 

Aragorn smiled, and it was a soft smile, erasing the discomfort that had prompted the man's words. "I'll keep that in mind," he responded. "It'll give me an excuse to return to Mirkwood the next time I need to break down." He smiled, something of his old self returning to his eyes. 

"Perhaps I will actually see a lot of you, in that case," Legolas teased, then ducked as the human swatted at him playfully. "But really, if your last adventure was as heinous as you say, and I'm sure it was worse, then I'm surprised they let you leave Rivendell alone." 

"Alone?" the human questioned. "Oh, I'm hardly alone. Elladan and Elrohir are here with me." 

Legolas' eyes widened in horror. "They're here?" he breathed. Aragorn burst out laughing and the prince frowned. "That's not funny, Estel!" he cried. "Just because your father banned them from tearing up your home doesn't mean they can tear up mine!" The human started laughing harder. "Where are they?" 

Several attempts by the ranger to answer the question were curtailed by renewed fits of hilarity. But finally, the hysterics calmed enough that he could speak. "I don't know. They disappeared shortly after we arrived with Doril." 

The elf's eyes widened. "Oh no!" he exclaimed. "And it's almost dinner time!" 

Aragorn sat up straight, a similar expression of horror adorning his face. "The kitchens!" he cried. "We have to get down there before they burn them down like they almost did the last time!" 

Without another word, the two friends escaped the room, racing in search of the twins whose reputation for mischief preceeded them even more extensively than their prowess against orcs. For the moment, at least, the shadows remained far behind, pushed away by friendship. But it was not pushed far. 


	5. Dinner with a Run

Hello, friends! I'm so glad you liked. Yes, yes, so glad. Maybe I should have maked this story as angst/humor. Lol. Isn't that a wonderful pairing? Hmm, well, I just realized there's very little angst for the next couple of chapters. A long break, if you will, but don't worry. The angst gets rather, um, heavy later. *looks thoughtful* 

Hmm, okay, well this is probably going to show up late, like tomorrow instead of today, but it's here. So sorry, all my errands took longer than I thought they would and I kinda forgot to post it last night like I had planned. Ah, well. I'm posting this and then running, in fact. *g* Well, now, let's see. . . . 

**Bill the Pony:** *grins* Hope you like this one, too. I'm not sticking with humor, honest. The angst will be back. 

**Bumper:** Oh hey! *waves happily* The guy on the mountain pass....well, it would ruin all the fun if I told you. The answer to that question comes in the third story. *grins sheepishly* I know, I'm just writing it and doing my best not to be horribly repetitive. When he was two was, um, not _exactly_ a nightmare. It's part memory, part a fabrication from a story he was told when he was little, and part fabrication by the shadows. I'm so glad you love it. 

A group hug? Hehe. Dr. Phil? There's an idea. . . . No, what are you doing giving me ideas? *looks panicked* If I keep coming up with other things to write, I will _never_ finish the third installment. *pauses and gets herself back under control* hehe. Writer stess, sorry. Someone to put better dreams in his head? *looks bemused* Is that a hint? *g* Ick, rain. I feel for you. Hope it stops raining. 

**Endril McMerlyn:** *jaws drops open* wow. *huggles Endril* Thank you so much! I'm flattered.****

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**Deana:** *grins* hehe. More here.****

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****Thank you all so much for reviewing. You have no idea how much it means to me. Especially when you come back to review again. *g* Big hug!****

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**Chapter 5**

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**Dinner with a Run**

Aragorn and Legolas skidded to a halt just inside the kitchen door. The had expected to have already seen and smelt smoke, flames, chaos. The sons of Elrond, and the twins especially, were notorious for causing unparalleled mayhem wherever they went. 

Their surprise, then, was palpable when they entered the room the twins had taken residence in to find nothing of the sort. Elladan, Elrohir, and Doril merely sat calmly, quietly, at a table away from the cooks, away from the food, perfect examples of perfectly behaved elflings. The two friends glanced at each other, mouths hanging open slightly. Mouths that closed when they saw the other's mouth hanging open. 

Aragorn turned back to look at them and knew Legolas did the same. "What do you suppose happened?" he asked. "They would never do this on their own prerogative." 

"Maybe my father got a hold of them," Legolas whispered back. 

It was then that Doril caught sight of them standing just inside the door and waved them over, calling out, "Well, look who finally decided to show up for some fun." The two in the doorway smiled automatically at the greeting, though wariness still reined in their eyes. 

Elrohir turned, bracing his elbow on the back of the chair. "Estel, what did Legolas do that we didn't?" he pouted. 

The human cocked his head slightly, regarding his brother with a contemplative look that said 'you have got to be kidding'. "Oh, I'm simply reasonably sure that any mischief created around the prince will not get me executed on the spot." 

"That wasn't our fault!" Elladan cried. "And we got you out of that. I mean, you're here, after all." 

Legolas' eyes had widened during the exchange and he turned now to Aragorn. "What are you talking about?" 

"Something that happened when I was twelve," Aragorn responded. 

"You swore you would not speak of it!" Elrohir challenged, his eyes as wide as saucers. 

Aragorn grinned wickedly, then let it fade into a nonchalant expression. He sat in the spot indicated by Doril and Legolas followed. "Well, I suppose." 

"You won't tell me?" Legolas pouted, and he could pout good when he really wanted to, a fact that amused the ranger to no end. The wicked grin reappeared on the human's face as the twins shifted uneasily. 

Doril leaned forward, always eager to hear about anything that made the twins uncomfortable. "Come now, it's not good to hide such entertaining stories from your hosts. Especially when they are your friends and should know everything anyway." 

"Uh, isn't it about time for dinner?" Elladan asked hopefully. "I mean, it should actually be ready since we didn't sabotage it this time, right?" 

This Aragorn found unbelievably funny for some reason unknown to the elves in his company, who stared quizzically between him and each other as the human slid down in his chair. 

Elrohir frowned slightly, remembering a similar event not so long ago, though this one was not so clear about _what_ he could _possibly_ be laughing at. Elladan spoke first. "You aren't laughing at us are you?" 

Bleary silver eyes met theirs, then the laughter increased. "You aren't going to end up on the floor again, are you?" Elrohir continued, which was actually a bad thing to say, for it made the young man laugh even harder, further upsetting his position in his seat. 

Suddenly, the chair slipped, sliding backwards, and Aragorn was plopped onto the floor, landing with a tooth jarring thud. The elves had thought he might stop laughing, then, but he did not, the laughter merely taking on a somewhat shrill note before the man snorted and the gale of laughter started again. 

Legolas watched his laughing friend with a kind of fascinated horror, too confused to find it funny, though the picture his young friend presented, laying on the floor, clothes a mess, hair flying and disheveled, was certainly beginning to strike him as hilarious. 

Then, without warning, the laughter changed, and little by little, the four elves realized Strider was no longer laughing, but crying, and curling himself into a ball as if to push all others out. The elf prince frowned and started to lean down to ask what was wrong, when the human suddenly bounded off the floor and raced from the room, disappearing with a speed that stunned the elves for they had not thought a human could move that fast. 

Silence engulfed the area and none of the friends moved. Faintly, then, the elves could make out the small and persistent sounds of food preparation going on just outside their reach, separated by a wall and a door. 

Elladan was the first to stir. "I'd better go find him," he announced, beginning to stride out the door. 

Legolas stopped him quickly, shaken out of his stupor by the other's voice. "No, Elladan. You do not know the area well enough, and you never could find him when he wished you not to. I will find him." 

Predictably, the other elf shook his head. "I need to find him. He's been acting odd all week, particularly around us, and he needs to know we still care about him." 

"Elladan," Legolas soothed. "He knows that, but if he ran because he was ashamed, then you are the last person he's going to want to see. For some reason, he doesn't want to show you any weakness. Wait here and let me go to him." 

Something changed in the other's eyes. "Has he talked to you?" Elladan demanded fervently. Legolas nodded and the elder twin sighed. He sat back down. "Then find him, Legolas, and bring him back. We need to get whatever is wrong in his head straightened out." 

The blonde haired elf smiled slightly, more for encouragement than out of humor, but he did not waste time with useless words. Anything he could say was already known. The only thing left to do was find the human. Once they found him, they could begin straightening out what was wrong with his head. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

_What is wrong with me?_ Aragorn lamented in his head. _Laughing one minute, crying the next, and all for NO GOOD REASON!_

The human scowled, rubbing irritably at his eyes which betrayed the tears he had just shed, red and puffy as they were, even after only moments of crying. Silvery tear tracks still streaked his face, as he was too distracted to truly mind their presence. He did not even know where he was going, just that he had to get away, and that he did not want anyone to find him. 

_What they must think of me now. Some idiotic crybaby as weak as his forefathers and just as stupid._

Far enough away now to not be seen by idle eyes, he began casting about with his eyes and memory for a place where he could stay--_hide_, his mind rejoined--for a while and think. 

He viciously cut off the thought that threatened to contradict that as he edged his way further into the undergrowth. After that display, he had no desire to eat with his brothers who would probably see him only as a child, a baby, still in need of their protection but by no means worthy of it. 

It never failed. Just when he finally did something he could be proud of, such as besting all those Slyntari just a week ago without a single scratch, he went and did something to screw it up. Like gaining that scratch against the orcs. He was a better fighter than them and he knew it. Then why could he never enter a battle without getting hurt? 

He kicked irritably at a rock near his feet, sending it skittering away from him, bouncing along the ground in a straight line before turning suddenly and shooting off to the right. His path was like that sometimes; as straight as could be one moment, then heading in an entirely new direction the next, changed by some unavoidable obstacle that could rarely be seen before he stumbled right on top of it. 

Misery seemed to cloak the human, wrapping him in an almost visible cloud of gloom. If one looked closely, they could almost see the dark rain clouds that hovered over his head, dousing him with cold water. . . . At least that's what one would have to assume was happening, for there could be no other explanation for why someone would be so sad in the midst of such beauty which could just be seen from where Aragorn was standing. 

Aragorn faced west, standing upon a ledge at a clearing of trees which allowed him an almost uninterrupted view of the sunset. It painted the sky in shades of blue and purple, reds and oranges, pinks and yellows, reaching outwards, seemingly pushing against the darkness yet still giving ground and growing ever darker the farther the sun fled. The moon would follow soon, but it could not yet be seen. 

The beauty did not reach him, however, for he was too far sunk in his despair to see light in anything, his mind too occupied with chastising himself for perceived failures to escape the shadows. 

The forest was quiet, no elves wandering about under the stars as dinner was nearly ready. No one saw the human sink to the ground in dejection, nor saw him fall asleep despite his best efforts to not give into the darkness. He simply had not the strength left, and as he sank, his mind berated him for being so weak as to be forced to accept the shadows. . . . 

~*~ 

Darkness filled his vision. 

The ranger looked around slowly, scanning back and forth, every sense on alert, every muscle tensed for action. Yet nothing happened. Distant sounds touched his ears, filtering slowly through to his mind but did not register. Nothing could he feel around him. 

Somehow, he knew he had been here before. He knew, and he knew he did not want to be here again. Something bad happened last time. He did not want-- 

Despite the near frantic desperation of his mind, his body gradually released tension as the panic drained from him with no danger having presented itself. Against his will, he focused on the sounds that seemed so very far away, afraid of what they would tell without knowing why. 

A clash, like the ringing of metal, sharp, echoing. A scuffle of feet moving quickly, rocks clattering briefly. Harsh breath, fast. Another scuffling, slithering sound, then ringing metal. A grunt of satisfaction or . . . pain? 

The sounds came to him, each identifiable, but he could not seem to place them together to see what they meant. A collection of random sounds had no meaning, yet he felt these should, knew these should. But in knowing, he knew he did not want to discover it for they held a secret he dared not know. 

Another clash, harsh and unyielding. Firm impact against stone, a thud. Scattering, slithering, leaves, breath, clash, clang, the sounds came faster, repeating at odd intervals, occasionally joined by a new sound or two, but then it was gone. Still he knew not what it was, and still the feeling of familiarity grew, pulling at his mind with its dread, speaking of something he was long familiar with but could not bring to light. There was no light to bring it to. 

His eyes narrowed as his mind, fighting against itself, struggled for realization, grasping futilely at a notion that hung just out of reach, taunted with the prospect of attaining the unattainable which nevertheless seemed to be close enough if one could reach just a hair further. . . . 

Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach, solidifying into a knot that seemed to grow heavier and heavier with each passing second, pulling him down. Something bad was about to happen, something he had known from the beginning, and now was registering to him again, a strange sense of deja vu occurring to him. It was inevitable, this doom, yet he knew not what it was and his flighty mind would not focus on it. 

The fact that his own mind would not cooperate did not deter him though he wanted it to, for he was pushed on by a force he could not see, like a puppet whose master moved the strings and he was stuck watching as his hands moved close to a box he had been told not to open. He continued his attempts to grasp that elusive knowledge which danced just out of reach and yet, for all that, seemed to desire to be caught. . . . 

The world spun. Or seemed to, a singularly perturbing feeling as there was no world to spin, yet did. Aragorn caught his breath as he felt he was falling, stiffening reflexively though he knew there was nowhere to fall to just as there was nowhere to fall _from_. The deja vu was stronger now, but no easier to fight, nor place. 

When everything seemed returned to normal (or at least what he thought was normal), the ranger tried to look around again. A completely worthless exercise in a pitch black void, admittedly, but a habit he had long since grown accustomed to just the same, and not one he was anxious to break simply because he found himself currently in limbo. 

His surprise, then, was palpable--even though he was not really surprised--when he looked around him and saw someone else also occupying this abyss. In the distance, too far for him to make out, were two figures, both tall, though one was light and the other was dark. One was lithe while the other was stocky. They seemed to be moving in their own world, unaware of their surroundings, not that there was much to be aware of, but the notion was so fully ingrained into the Dúnadan's responses that he noted it without thought of the bleakness of the surroundings they shared. 

Despite everything in him that said to draw away, turn back, the figures drew him, tempting him closer. He tried to move closer, found he could not, then noticed both figures nonetheless grew larger, their movements apparently bringing them nearer him. Now he could see they moved, a complicated dance that held deadly intent. 

As they moved closer, the sounds started to click into place. One-by-one he identified what he had heard earlier and already knew against their movements. The clash of swords as one swung for the other and was blocked. Feet moving across the ground as the combatants moved around each other, breath harsh from their exertions whistling in and out. A veritable cacophony of sound, steady, constant, except when it was interrupted by a grunt of pain or a thud or some other sound which as of yet did not belong in the tapestry of movement being woven before him. 

Mesmerized, he stared, able and wanting to do nothing but watch, absorbed. It was a good thing there was nothing around him for he would not have noticed a band of orcs if they had suddenly marched up and trampled him, save to object if they obscured his view of the two fighters. 

Slowly, the light figure became clearer, even as the dark figure grew more obscured, and his mind attempted to fight the revelations he knew were coming but did not know. 

Golden hair glowed behind as the lithe figure moved and turned, blocking and evading blows. A whimper lodged in his throat. His clothes gained resolution: a moss-green over-tunic covered the long sleeved light gray tunic the being wore underneath, dark gray leggings ending in soft, supple, dark brown boots. His heart lurched as he moved closer--or the figures did--and he saw the belt secured around the being's waist, the quiver strapped to his back, the knives in his hands, the gauntlets secured around his wrists. 

His heart knew what his mind had yet to register, apprehension curling up his spine, forcing him to shift. He noted the triple braids holding back the fair being's golden hair, the intricate elvish designs on quiver and knives, the graceful, pointed ears of the Eldar. Abandoning his spine, the fear crept over to his heart and his lungs, squeezing so as to deny him air. 

The combatants shifted, and Aragorn caught his first glimpse of the being's face. Blue eyes burned into his own for a fraction of a second, an eternity, and then they were once again obscured. A dark feeling, a dread certainty, settled over his heart and mind, telling him that nothing good would come of this battle, screaming at him that his friend would die, that he had to stop it before. . . . The end would be upon him soon, one way or another. 

Aragorn struggled, desperately attempting to move closer. He tried to scream, already knowing it was futile and even more desperate because he knew, hoping to distract his friend's opponent . . . all to no avail. No sound issued from his mouth and his struggles only served to move him further away. Despair pulled at his thoughts, unbearable pain as he watched Legolas stumble, saw him drop his guard, mesmerized as the dark blade of his friend's opponent sunk deeply into the other's flesh, heard the shocked gasp of pain as icy tendrils grabbed hold to lead towards death. 

The ranger's numb gaze traveled from the shocked pain-filled eyes of his friend, no scream able to leave his throat, and followed the elf's gaze to take in the dark figure standing over him. Even now, he could not make out the attacker's face, even though he could see the sweat beading Legolas' pale face, not even enough to know his species . . . but a malevolent smile could be seen through the shadow that cloaked the foul being, a smile of glee for felling that which he could never become, and inflicting pain on another through one being's death. 

Anguish froze Aragorn, held him in place, unable to move. The Shadow's eyes turned on him, holding him prisoner, unable to look away, unable to go to his friend and offer aid or even comfort, if comfort was all he had left to offer . . . unable to say good-bye. 

Darkness closed in around him, even darker than his surroundings. He could not move, could not breath, but not before he saw Legolas collapse, a still and broken lump of flesh worth nothing to the victor in the sea of black, his light extinguished never to be seen again. 

Not before he saw the satisfaction in the eyes of his friend's murderer. 

Inside, something snapped and rage replaced despair. He charged and the wraith pulled back, surprise flashing over it's dark features, lighting its eyes. Had he been thinking, able to think, Aragorn might have felt his own satisfaction at the uncertainty that replaced the smug satisfaction, but he did not. He simply charged the shadow, and suddenly-- 

It was gone. 

~*~ 

Aragorn opened his eyes. 

For the second time in the same day, he found himself staring into the startled blue eyes of his friend. A single heartbeat was all that passed before he flung himself forward to latch onto his friend with all the strength he possessed, his mind too distressed with watching the elf die to register the action. He dared not wait, dared not withdraw, lest he open his eyes again to discover it was all a dream and the dream had been the reality. 

His body trembled. More tears fell, and he lacked the strength to stop the flow now that it had started. For the second time, he cried on Legolas' shoulder, reveling in the knowledge that Legolas was still around, still breathing, still alive. 

He felt the elf's strong arms wrap around him in return, holding him securely. Blood rushed past his ears, drowning out the litany of soothing words he knew were being uttered. The familiar comfort, given by a friend with whom he had already been through so much, was finally the anchor that let him regain control. 

When he felt some semblance of balance return, he let go and pulled back, prepared to see scorn in the other's eyes. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

When Legolas had come upon the human asleep, he had smiled for Aragorn had looked like a young boy who had stayed out too long and fallen asleep in the middle of his travels. Then, he had noted the distress in the other's face and frowned. Too often had he seen the other caught in nightmares to mistake what he saw, so he had gone forward to wake him up. 

He was surprised for the second time in only a few hours, when Aragorn's eyes once again shot open just as he was about to touch him, startling the elf badly. What startled him more, though, was when the human launched himself into his arms, hanging on with desperate tightness as if he would drown if his grip faltered. 

The distress, the fear, he had seen in his friend's eyes precluded any consideration for any thought other than to hug him back, and he did. Clinging just as tightly as the human for whatever comfort it would bring the other. 

The elf wondered what could distress his friend so. Nothing overly terrible had happened to the human in the story Aragorn had related to him. Orcs, and even Slyntari, were nothing new to the human and what had happened was certainly not the worst of it. 

Any poison, however, was a different story. The Ungwale Aragorn had mentioned was new to Legolas; he had no idea what it did, but the ranger did not seem to find it pleasant. It was his experience that the poison did not necessarily disappear with the rendering of the antidote. Perhaps the ranger's troubles were residual of his experience with the poison? He had no clue who to ask to find out. 

Then he realized the storm was petering out. Slowly, Aragorn pulled back, his hands brushing away the traitorous tears as his head was bowed, his eyes locked on something apparently very interesting. Then, just as slowly, the ranger raised his eyes. Silver eyes searched his own while he returned the gaze. Legolas got the impression he was searching for something he was sure he would find, but dreaded actually coming across; that he would search for something like that in his friend's own gaze hurt Legolas more than he would have thought. 

Hesitantly, Aragorn offered the barest hint of a smile. "Two in less than a day. Does it still feel good?" 

A brilliant smile crept across the elf's face in response, then he sobered and spoke seriously. "Aragorn, no one expects you to be strong all of the time." He watched the ranger glance away, shadows creeping across the expressive eyes. "I treasure my time with you, mellon nin. Whether we are laughing or fighting for our lives or resting quietly in Rivendell or here. I never thought I would ever befriend a human, Strider, but then I've never met anyone like you before either. 

"You have tremendous strength, my friend. Strength you are not even aware of. And courage. Loyalty. I could not ask for a better friend than you have been to me even in these short years, and my only regret is that we will not have eternity to enjoy our friendship." 

Bright silver eyes turned to regard him intently, and a small smile curled the other's lips. "Yes, I regret that also." 

They were both silent for several long moments, then Legolas looked back in the direction of the palace. He looked back at Aragorn wryly. "Well, mellon nin, if you feel up to facing the precociousness of your brothers, I think maybe we should go back, get some dinner. After all, I plan on stirring up some trouble while you're here to share it with me." 

Aragorn smiled. "Your father's probably about ready to strangle them by now. We wouldn't want that. Besides, then Father would have to decide whether or not to kill Thranduil or thank him, and I would rather he not have to make that decision. I fear he would decide to thank him." 

Legolas laughed and stood, extending a hand to help the young human to his feet, which was taken automatically. The two headed back to the palace, laughing quietly as they teased each other and commented on the twins' unique ability to get into trouble even among friends. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Aragorn followed the nimble elf back to the house, the light his friend represented and the dark of his dreams fighting, arguing back and forth, the struggle growing fiercer the closer they moved to the palace. Unconsciously, his pace slowed. 

_Elladan and Elrohir are not Legolas. They do not see things the way he does._

**_No, they don't, but they've also had better experiences with men._**

_That does not change anything. They had direct experiences with Isildur, a man fostered from the same line as Elros, their father's brother. Surely they are disappointed in me, a weak excuse for one of that line._

__

**_They made you family. They do not think you weak._**

**__**

**__**They should. I am. 

His attention was drawn away from the argument in his mind when he noticed that Legolas had paused and was looking back at him, an excited but slightly quizzical expression on his face. Aragorn knew if he held back again, Legolas would worry again, and that his brothers were probably already worrying. It hurt him that he kept making them fearful for him because of his weaknesses. He wished they would not fret. 

He knew they would. So instead of giving in to his weak impulse to give in, he stepped forward and forced himself to catch back up to Legolas, to walk beside his wood-elf friend. 

They reentered the hall, passing several elves, and he did his best not to notice their stares, his best to shut out the accusing gazes that condemned him for being weak. How they had found out, he could not fathom, but they had to know. His pulse increased, pounding away beneath his flesh, fleet as a gazelle fleeing a predator. Breathing shallowly, nearly panting as he struggled to bring enough air into lungs that suddenly did not want to cooperate. 

If Legolas noticed, he was too considerate to mention it. Then the distant part of his mind that always found humor in the direst situations spoke, and he wished it did not find this so amusing. _Strider, Ranger of the North, Aragorn son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur, who charges hordes of Orcs unconcerned, intimidated, flees before a few stares in an elven kingdom. As if you have not always been stared at by elves, and many of those were worse than these. Really, Estel, you act as if they would bite you. It is their estranged cousins you should worry about on that score._ Had he not been so scared, he might have laughed. 

The wood-elf walked to the door and pushed it open, glancing briefly inside before shooting a smile at the human who obediently followed him inside, immediately going to their seats. 

Aragorn was surprised to find that few were seated in the room. Apparently, it had been decided this meal was to be a private affair. He saw only Raniean, Trelan, Doril, Elladan, and Elrohir, plus himself and Legolas. Both newcomers were greeted with bright smiles. 

A note of mischievousness touched Elrohir's smile, and had Aragorn not already been half terrified out of his wits, that look would surely have unsettled him. The twin stood, then bowed formally before the bewildered companions. Aragorn cast a quick glance at Legolas, who shrugged fractionally in return. 

Elrohir stood and adopted an exaggerated pose similar to that of a butler, one arm across his stomach while the other was held stiffly at his side, chin up, eyes forward and focused ruthlessly past his head, his posture arrow straight. "My lords," he announced, with a precise accent. "It is my pleasure tonight to serve you. I might inquire if you would prefer to have dinner on the run or if you would prefer the dinner with the run." 

The laughter that rang out from the room could be heard throughout King Thranduil's palace and whispered about the surrounding city. 


	6. Madcap

Hmm, okay, we still haven't gotten to the ansty part yet. *frowns* It's amazing how much one can forget of their own story. I had not realized it took so long to get started.That said, more humor for you folks. Hope you're not getting tired of it. *g* 

**Grumpy:** lol. *smirks* You'd like that, wouldn't you? I don't think anyone _has_ checked his blood-sugar. But he hasn't been eating very well of late so maybe they should. Somehow, I think hitting him with a rock would cause more trouble. Hehe. He also might complain rather loudly, and then my mother would complain. Then I'd get pissed and then there'd be more problems. *sigh* Have fun with this one, cherish it. It's the last you'll see of the twins for awhile. Until the next story. They figure rather much into that one. 

**Pernauriel:** Hi! Thanks for the review. I'm glad you enjoy it. 

**NaughtyNat:** You've been gone long time. But welcome to my new story. *g* Um, as of yet there is no plan to take that particular memory any further, but it might still pop up in the third that won't cooperate with me. So, we'll see. 

**Bill the Pony:** Eh, awkward in a good way or a bad way? *looks anxious* Glad you like it! *g* 

It took me the longest time to figure out how I wanted to start this chapter, and I think I came up with something fairly amusing. I'm sorry if it seems kinda abrupt, but I could languish in little details or I could continue on to where this gets good: the angst. *g* So, if it seems abrupt, that's because I wanted to get on with the story. Sorry if that doesn't jibe. I tried. 

That said: Enjoy! Then review.****

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**Chapter 6**

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**Madcap**

When Aragorn finally returned to his rooms, sometime long after sunset and at least before dawn, he was happy; truly genuinely happy as he had not been since the dreams started. Content. 

Legolas was well and as glad to see Aragorn as Aragorn was to see him. Elladan and Elrohir had seen him weak and not shunned him, not treated him any differently. A warm glow suffused his body even as sleep began to steal over his mind, slowing his thoughts. He was wanted and loved, and that was enough. 

He smiled as he reached the top of the stairs, one hand coming up to scrub at his eyes. For the first time in what seemed forever, no voices whispered doom in the back of his mind. 

His vision blurred and he blinked rapidly in an effort to clear it. The hall came back into focus, so he continued. _So tired._

Too long had be been running on little to no sleep, disturbed by dreams and night terrors, worn by imaginings of rejection and turmoil. Now that his mind had peace, his body could no longer sustain the pace the mind had set to protect itself from the darkness. 

Aragorn entered his room and crossed over to the bed, forgoing the closet, and simply collapsed onto his bed, fully closed, and was asleep even before he hit the pillow. Serene, his sleep was too deep to dream, let alone be disturbed by unpleasant images. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

The wonderful thing about sleeping is that time passes so much more quickly when you are not awake to notice it than when you are able to sit quietly and allow each second to multiply until it seems like four. Sleep releases you from your obligations to refresh your mind and body and leave you ready to resume the tedious or trying duties you left behind when your head hit the pillow, your body stilled, and your mind stopped working at such a frantic pace; when conscious thought escapes and goes somewhere else for a while until you have the energy to miss it. 

It was with these thoughts that Legolas Greenleaf decided sleeping was good only if you were the one sleeping and not the one waiting for the sleeper to wake. 

A small smile touched the elf's lips. He knew he would never truly wish to deny his friend sleep. Humans became so impossible when they were tired that if the ranger were always sleepy, they would never get anything done. 

Besides, if he were honest with himself, he would be forced to admit there were times when he would truly love to be human and able to sleep longer, to be able to simply laze around in bed, drifting in and out of consciousness without feeling if he did not _move_ he was going to go mad. Not, he knew, that Aragorn actually lazed around more than once a year. He would be surprised if he somehow managed to laze around even that much. 

The elf shifted, shifting so that he slouched in the chair (a position his father would object to strenuously), and regarded the human critically through half-lidded eyes. The man's hair was strewn haphazardly across the pillow, a couple strands falling across his face as it rested to one side. His mouth was partially open, his breath shallow and even, his expression peaceful. For the first time since he had arrived in Mirkwood, he actually looked relaxed. 

Some color had returned to his face, partially erasing that gaunt look that had worried the elf so when he had first seen the human. Lines of worry or pain had eased around the other's eyes. The deep shadows that had taken up residence under bright silver orbs that were currently hidden also seemed to be losing their hold. 

The one thing, however, that could not be changed with sleep, was how thin the ranger was. Unless Legolas missed his guess, Aragorn had to have lost nearly fifteen pounds, and the one thing the human never was, was heavy. He had always been relatively thin for a human, in the elf prince's opinion, regardless that he had little experience with them. He knew humans weighed more, and that their figures usually were not as lithe as elves, though there were a few exceptions. Aragorn had never been one of those exceptions. 

He sighed, then shifted again, resting his head in his left hand. Would it upset the balance Aragorn seemed to have found if he went to a bit of trouble to be sure he ate? The young man tended to be a bit touchy when he felt he was being coddled. The last thing he wanted was for his friend to pull away. 

No, he would simply have to trust that, now that Aragorn seemed to have gotten over whatever was troubling him, he would go back to eating like he was supposed to on his own. In any case, he could take no action now, not with his psyche such a mystery to the three elves who called him brother--two to his face, one in his mind. 

Quietly, Legolas stood. Aragorn would likely be sleeping for another couple of hours--if Elladan and Elrohir were right about how little sleep he had gotten in the last few weeks--and there were some things he needed to see to. One of them (or rather two), were notorious for leaving disaster in their wake whenever they were allowed to become bored. 

He smiled and quietly left, making sure the door did not make too much noise and began his search for the twins. If he did not find them soon, he would no longer have to look, he would just have to listen for the screaming and follow it. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

An hour later, Legolas was frustrated. He had searched everywhere: the kitchens, the pool, a dozen separate balconies where there were she-elves that the twins frequented, the gardens, the dining hall, the Tree room--a meditation garden, of sorts, though the twins had no particular interest in it. He checked the healers ward, and every other place he could think of to no avail. No one had seen them in hours. 

Irritated, he breathed out noisily. Finally, though, he had decided to recruit Aragorn's help, which was where he was headed now: back to the human's room. The idea was that the ranger, who knew his brothers so much better than Legolas did, would be able to find them. 

How they always seemed to pop up out of nowhere when one least wanted to see them, but disappeared when one was looking for them was beyond the elf prince. Not to mention highly vexing. 

Though he did not particularly mind not hearing any screaming, he was not exactly sure that was a good thing. Silence tended to be the calm before the storm. He was half sure that this silence would be worse in the long run than any raised decibel level could be. Then again, it could just be his nerves. 

He approached Aragorn's room, raising a hand to knock quietly on the door before entering. Then froze. He had heard something, but not from the room before him. It had come from behind him. 

Frowning, the prince turned. Behind him lay the twins' room, and he suddenly remembered that was one place he had never looked. 

Moving quickly, almost as if he was afraid they would disappear, Legolas crossed the floor and pushed open the door forcefully. It crashed into the other wall with a rather loud thump and two figures were revealed. Two identical figures, who jumped and looked up from their spots seated on the floor, packs between them, objects scattered around them: clothes, ointments, bandages, water, food, herbs, and one or two more items the prince could not identify. 

Confused, he looked down at the twins. "What are you doing?" he asked. 

Elladan stood up, movements every bit as graceful as if he had just stood from sitting in a chair. "A messenger arrived this morning from Rivendell requesting our immediate return. Apparently something has happened back home we need to see to. We were packing." 

He turned back to his brother--who had remained seated and working--and plopped back down on the floor. Legolas was a bit confused as to why he had stood at all. "But you just got here," the elf prince reminded them, sounding a bit petulant even to his own ears. 

Elrohir grinned up at him. "Oh, I don't think you'll mind. Besides, Estel will still be here." 

"He's not going with you?" 

Both shook their heads, but it was once again the younger who spoke. "No, he is to stay here." 

"Who decided that?" another voice demanded. 

All three elves turned to look behind them in surprise--not one of them had heard the human approach. Aragorn stood behind them, still in the clothes he had slept in, which were now rumpled, his hair in comical disarray and standing up in places. He was rubbing slightly at his left cheek which was red and imprinted with lines from the bed coverings. His eyes were still bleary from sleep. 

It took all of the elves' control not to burst out laughing at the sight. 

Elladan saved them from potential disaster by speaking up. "Ada," he answered. 

The ranger scowled. "If something is wrong at home, I want to help." 

Elrohir shook his head. "You can't, Estel." 

Elladan promptly whacked the other on the head. "You idiot," he whispered fiercely. Then, "Strider, you're on vacation." He stood and faced the young human. "Father said it was urgent we get back, not that there was a problem. Probably some diplomatic problem he can't get anyone else to do. If we're wrong, we can always send someone back for you." He shook his head. "Take advantage of this opportunity, young one. It may be last one you get for a long while." 

Elrohir snorted. "Yeah, we were just to escort so you wouldn't have to travel alone. Unlike you, _we _weren't released from responsibilities in Rivendell." 

"There are--" Aragorn started, the mention of "responsibilities" setting him off again. 

"Strider!" Legolas cried, more than willing to lend a hand in getting the human to stay. "Stop arguing! Or do you not wish to visit?" 

Aragorn looked at him, his expression somewhat sheepish, somewhat hurt, and somewhat angry as he struggled to resolve the matter in his mind. Slowly, the ranger nodded. "Right. A vacation." He nodded, then glanced sideways at Legolas. "Of course, with Legolas here involved, we'll probably get into more trouble than either of you." 

The twins laughed. Legolas looked indignant. "Excuse me." 

The Dúnadan just smiled wickedly. 

"Regardless, you're probably right, Estel," Elladan answered, wiping slightly at his eyes as he stood, pack in hand, with Elrohir right behind him, even if the young twin was having a bit more trouble reigning in his laughter. "Trouble follows you two everywhere. In that case, maybe we _should_ take you with us." 

Legolas scowled, as did Aragorn, and the twins again burst out laughing, the identical expressions on the two friends' faces simply too much for them. Slowly, the elf prince started to laugh. Then, the ranger's lips started to twitch. 

"Be gone with you!" the young man declared, sweeping his hand. "The two of you are wretched." The twins laughed harder. 

"You're not helping, Strider," Legolas murmured. 

A smile quirked his lips. "Oh, I was supposed to help?" 

Legolas shoved him. "Come on, human. Let's go see those two trouble-makers off before they do something to gain the ire of my father." 

Aragorn just laughed, then followed his friend out of the room and down the stairs toward the front of the house. This was shaping up to be a very good day. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Many hours later, both man and elf were reclined in the prince's room, the former resting his bare feet against the wall with his hands behind his head, and the other laying on his back on his bed twirling an arrow lazily in his left hand. 

Bare hours after dawn, when the twins had left, the entire house had been deemed off limits. A celebration of sorts was being prepared and the friends had been told to stay out of the way or suffer the consequences, which would likely mean Aragorn would be forced to leave (a decidedly childish consequence to both their minds, but neither had been willing to test the idea and had obediently retreated to their own space away from the preparations). 

They had gone through a couple games, little things usually reserved for winter days when the weather was too forbidding to go outside. As the preparations seemed to encompass much of the palace, however, they dared not spend the time outside, and so had done their best to amuse themselves with the knickknacks. 

That had been nearly three hours ago. 

Both, now, were thoroughly bored. Legolas, being older and wiser, simply turned his thoughts to other things, more or less willing to wait with elvish patience which sometimes seemed to stretch the bounds of reason. Aragorn, however, was human, young, impatient, no matter that he had been raised among elves, and was itching for something to _do._ Anything. 

Watching his toes as he wriggled them against the wall had lost any kind of thrill it had ever had long ago. Playing with his fingers as he held them before his face had proven tiresome to his arms and was no more interesting than watching his toes. Counting cracks on the ceiling had not taken very long, especially as there were few cracks in elvish architecture, perfectionists that they were, though he had counted nearly a dozen times and now knew their shape, length, and location by heart. 

He was too bored to stand up and peruse the many various objects arrayed around the room which would have proven at least mildly interesting, never mind that he had seen them many times before. He was caught in that frustrating position of being too tired to get up due to boredom, and too awake to sleep; a position that could easily drive one mad. 

Aragorn sighed. Then tilted his head back until he could see his friend. He could almost swear the elf was asleep, regardless that he was twirling an arrow. "Legolas?" he called, softer than he would have if the other was a man. 

No response. 

He frowned. "Legolas." 

The elf did not move, nor did the motion of the arrow falter in it's lazy spin, the dexterous fingers moving seemingly as a matter of course. Aragorn smirked. Apparently the elf was asleep. The man glanced around him, searching for an object he could throw that would not break and would not hurt his friend. He found a discarded shirt and grasped it with his right hand. 

Then he looked back at the elf. Taking careful aim while manipulating the garment until its balance was as good as he was going to manage, he threw. 

The green shirt winged through the air in a gentle arc, spreading as it reached its apex on its course for the other's face. With nary a sound to mark its passage, it descended toward the unsuspecting prince. Aragorn watched expectantly as it grew ever closer to its target. 

Apparently the elf felt something was coming, for seconds before the projectile hit, he blinked, focused on the world around him and saw something headed for his face. Before he could move or identify it, the article of clothing struck his face, smothering him ever so briefly beneath it. 

The fair being wrestled with the item, attempting to remove it from his face so he could take a clean breath. Obscene laughter answered his attempts. Legolas pulled the garment aside, tossing it to the bed rather more forcefully than was necessary, and glared at his friend, who was rolling on the floor, practically howling with laughter. 

"Strider," he growled. 

Eventually, the other managed to stop laughing, though a huge smile remained glued to his face. He rolled over onto his stomach and propped his head in his hands, his feet kicking slightly in the air. The very childishness of the pose tempted a smile onto the elf's face. Silver eyes regarded him. "What do you want to do?" 

"Do, Strider?" Legolas questioned. "There's nothing we _can_ do." 

"There has to be something!" the ranger exclaimed melodramatically, rolling over onto his back to stare at the ceiling, arms flung out wide. "We've been lying here all day." He tilted his head back to look at his friend. "We could lay around at Rivendell and at least be outside while we do it." 

Legolas shook his head. "My father won't let me away from my duties long enough for a trip to Rivendell." 

"I know," Aragorn agreed softly, then sighed and rolled back over. "Come on, Legolas. There has to be _something_ we could do." 

A slight frown on his face, the elf leaned forward, shifting to lay on his stomach, unconsciously mirroring Aragorn's pose as he thought. He still could not figure out what was going on for so much to be off limits, but if his father said it was so, then it was so. 

"What about a hunt?" Aragorn asked abruptly. 

Legolas sat up slightly, frowning a little as he thought it over. _That actually didn't sound like such a bad idea_. . . . He shook his head. "Nay, there aren't enough others who could join us. It would be too dangerous." 

"Oh, come on, Legolas!" Aragorn cried, moving into a sitting position, half glaring at his friend. "We don't need baby-sitters. Just a harmless little hunt. We don't even need to hunt, just get out of the palace, away from these preparations and restrictions." He scooted forward, gaze intent. "Surely you know somewhere we could go." 

The elf thought about it, staring rather oddly at the ranger, a kind of pensive glance that told him nothing except the other was not particularly fond of the idea but willing enough to consider it. Aragorn knew to wait the elf out, at least for a while. If he did not, Legolas would likely employ a favorite elvish gimmick and call him either young or human and deny the idea on either or. He was not willing to give up the idea for his impatience and so held still, watching intently as the other considered. 

"Well," Legolas finally spoke, "there might be a place we could go. But I still don't think it's a good idea for us to travel through Mirkwood alone." 

"We've done it before," Aragorn countered. 

"Yes, and you know how that turned out." 

"We survived, didn't we?" the human replied pugnaciously. 

"Only just!" the elf exclaimed. 

"You exaggerate, my friend," scoffed the ranger. "We were in fine shape when we made it back to safety." 

Legolas rolled over onto his back, letting his head dangle over the edge so he could eye the ranger, his expression hardly believing. "We were found by Raniean and Trelan," he reminded the other. "Who knows what might have happened had we not found them?" 

"You mean had they not found us?" Aragorn countered. "And you over-estimate their importance. We would have survived just fine." He paused. "We simply would not have found the evidence to prove my innocence before it was disposed of." 

The elf snorted. 

"Legolas. My friend. If I have to spend many more hours locked up in this room, afraid to go outside or make any loud noises, I will go quite mad. How would that go over with Father? The prince of Mirkwood driving the Heir of Isildur to insanity by refusing a simple hunting trip to pass a couple of hours. I can see his face now." 

Said prince rolled over again with a laugh and leveled the Dúnadan with an amused glare. "I can see his face, also." He paused for effect, then continued, "When I drag you to Rivendell yet again to be patched back up." 

"At least you have not had to drag me back half-dead!" Aragorn returned in jest, assuming an indignant posture. 

"I was not half-dead," the elf declared, mock glaring. 

The young man waved a hand, dismissing, and rolled his eyes. "Near dead, then." 

"Don't start that again!" Legolas cried. "Don't start!" 

Aragorn grinned, a roguish smile that had the side effect of occasionally making the elf prince desire to slam his head against a nearby wall, repeatedly and with vigor, as it usually meant the human was about to do something they would both regret later. Unfortunately, Legolas usually agreed to it. 

"Well, if we were hunting, I wouldn't have any time to think about it," the human tried to reason. 

Unconsciously, Legolas adopted a look he had seen his father use several times when he was skeptical about something that had been said, one eyebrow raising imperiously while he tipped his head down slightly, creating an "you think so" look that spoke as clearly as words. 

Aragorn pursed his lips. "At least I would need to be quieter," he amended, his smile becoming impish. 

Legolas sighed, but even he had to admit he would much rather be outside, among the trees, even if they were dark with the creeping shadow that seemed to claim more of Greenwood every year, affirming the name of Mirkwood that had by now been well-earned. He closed his eyes, then opened them again and looked silently at the ranger before him. 

The young man apparently sensed his shift in mood, for he quieted and returned the gaze seriously, steadily. Legolas sighed again. "Oh all right, human," he finally conceded. "We'll go on a hunt." 

When Aragorn jumped up with a wild cry of delight and ran for his room to prepare, Legolas suddenly felt like a parent with an unruly child who was as manipulative as he was bright, and fiercely pitied Lord Elrond who had to live with him and the twins, together, under one roof. 

He groaned at the thought of having to deal with that. He was well aware that many considered him in along with the three and pitied Lord Elrond, as well, especially when he had to deal with the four of them under the same roof, at the same time. His father, he knew, greatly preferred it when they visited in Imladris rather than Mirkwood. 

Idly, the young elf wondered which would go mad first: Lord Elrond or his father. 

The prince laughed quietly as he stood up to ready his own pack and weapons. In this, at least, he would gladly go with a piece of human logic he normally could not hold with: _If you can't beat them, join them_. He had long since ceased attempting to beat the twins. Aragorn was just as hopeless. 

And, truth to tell, he wouldn't change a thing. He grinned wickedly. He suspected his father would. 

Steadfastly ignoring his hesitations, he began to gather what he would need. If he did not go, Aragorn would simply go by himself, the prince reasoned. His father, he knew, would have no serious objections to any outing that would keep the two friends out of his hair and away from any mischief in the palace. It was really a good idea. 

So why did he feel so uneasy? 


	7. Trouble Comes in Twos

Hi all! Here's the next chapter. Em, I have to apologize in advance for this chapter. This chapter, I think, starts the angst you've all been waiting so patiently for. But, as I've been using humor up to this point, I couldn't just stop the humor. *stares at the chapter from as far away as possible* But that does not mean the humor is comprehensible. I have no idea what they were thinking when I wrote this, but maybe you will understand what I did not. *g* If it helps, I think each is refering to some past event, and neither has chosen the same event but both understand the other's event. *frowns* Maybe that won't help at all. Oh, well. 

**Vampy2k:** Hey, your review showed up after I had already posted. Sorry. Glad you enjoy. Twins? Twins? Um, nope. No twins. But everybody gets to have fun in the next story. *g* 

**NaughtyNat:** Heh heh. *blinks slightly as NaughtyNat whirls around her head then zooms out to the horizon and disappears* *stares down at the articles dropped in her hands* Uh, thanks. *g* Gotta get the speed limit sign put up. Unh, you have beleated permission to share your thoughts for those other stories you found here. Glad the image of Aragorn is attractive. *smiles wickedly* 

**Bill the Pony:** Angst is very close. If not this one, then the next one. Promise. I can tell by the title. *g* What's WWE? Haven't seen that before. 

**Grumpy:** The twins . . . Return in the next story. Everything that happens, starting with False Reality, leads there. They may wish they were left out of though. *g* They would not tell me what was going on in Mirkwood. *frowns* Stubborn Elves. Them and their secrets. A festival of some sort, though Thranduil was more than happy to send them out. Maybe he should have been less eager. *looks thoughtful, then shakes self* Hem, the rock . . . *tries to look innocent* Well. . . . 

Onto the next chapter! Don't shoot me for the humor. Please.****

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****Enjoy and review! Or if you want, review and enjoy! Lol. Sorry, read on.****

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**Chapter 7**

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**Trouble Comes in Twos**

"Aragorn, would you stop singing," Legolas grumbled as they walked, glancing back over his shoulder in time to see the ranger stick out his tongue. "You're going to scare all the game away." 

"Hmph," he responded. "That haughty elven pride is just as strong as ever, I see." 

"Better than your singing," came the expected retort. 

The young man laughed. "Then, by all means, relieve me of my burden," he told the prince with an exaggerated bow. 

Legolas slowed to walk next to him, favoring his friend with a regretful look. "I am afraid, mellon nin, that you would miss your tongue too much if I were to do that." 

Aragorn blinked, then shoved his friend away, both laughing. "You wouldn't dare!" the ranger exclaimed. The elf just smiled wickedly. 

They had left the palace quickly after securing permission from King Thranduil and rations for lunch, as they believed no success would befall them in time for the noonday meal since it was already almost noon when they left and they were not particularly worried about catching anything in the first place. 

The companions had quickly made their way deeper into the forest, the light of the sun not even coming close to breaking the canopy that hung above them, the chill of winter even stronger under the boughs for that fact. Aragorn was glad he had brought his overcoat and wrapped it around him for warmth when chill breezes snaked through the trees to find his thin form. 

Both glanced down when they heard a faint rumble, two sets of eyes fixing on Aragorn's stomach. Amused blue eyes ascended to meet the man's gaze. "It seems your stomach has betrayed you, my friend," the elf said. 

"Indeed," he agreed. "One day it shall be the death of me." 

Legolas snorted. "Death by hunger is one way I doubt you shall ever have opportunity to try. Orcs are more likely to get you first." Ahead of the ranger once again, the elf glanced back, a wicked smile on his face. "That is, of course, unless you still shoot like a girl." 

The Dúnadan lunged at his friend, rising to the bait, his newfound peace enabling him to greatly enjoy the friendly banter. The elf ran, and he gave chase, managing to keep pace with the nimble being far better than many, even of his kindred, could boast. 

Then the elf dropped out of sight and Aragorn paused where he had last seen him, glancing around curiously. There were a couple of good sized stones and a fallen log. He took a couple steps further in, searching the ground for any hint as to where the elf had gone. He found none, and a frown pulled at his lips. It was as if he had simply disappeared. Or flown. 

He looked up. Nothing presented itself to his gaze, and he turned in a complete circle while his eyes scanned the trees. Spotting a wood-elf in a tree when he did not wish to be found was basically a futile exercise, but he had to try. Nothing. 

He turned and examined the path he had followed, noting the barely perceptible prints the elf had left up until this point, a couple erased by Aragorn's own heavier tread. 

Perhaps the elf had jumped onto one of the stones to avoid leaving behind a trail. He turned--and jumped back, hand automatically going for his sword before his mind could even register what had surprised him. 

Far closer than he would have imagined, was Legolas. The elf had an inane grin on his face and looked to be hard pressed not to burst out laughing. Aragorn quickly regained his balance and removed his hand from his sword hilt, attempting to glare at the fair-haired prince. 

The other's smile just widened in response, and the elf prince turned and swept out a hand to indicate the dubious clearing. "I think this is a nice place." 

"Lovely," the ranger murmured, still watching the elf expectantly. 

"Oh good," Legolas said, almost skipping over to a nearby rock and sitting down, swinging his pack around before him and beginning to dig through it. 

Aragorn watched, vaguely entertained, as the elf unpacked, repacked, and unpacked, only to repack yet again without leaving anything behind. The absurdity of the motions, along with youthful curiosity, prodded him to inquire. "Legolas," he called. The elf looked up, momentarily halting his motions. "What are you doing?" 

He blinked, then smiled brightly, the abrupt change something he had only seen among the females he had little experience with. "Why waiting for you, of course!" 

It was Aragorn's turn to blink, as his mind uselessly scrambled for an explanation the elf did not seem fit to give. "Oh, of course," he agreed weakly. He watched as Legolas went back to his recent preoccupation, seemingly absorbed in the task. After a few moments of this, he spoke again. "Waiting for me to do what?" 

Legolas laughed. "I was wondering how long it would take you to ask!" 

"You were," Aragorn agreed uncertainly, just as confused by this as he had been by his friend's seeming preoccupation with actions he remembered a human infant doing: picking up his toys and putting them up, only to take them right back out, then repeat the whole process endlessly. 

Aragorn's stomach growled again, and the elf smirked. "We're here to eat lunch." 

"Oh." 

He did not move. Legolas had looked down at his pronouncement, finally seeing fit to truly unpack his lunch and only his lunch so he could eat, and rearranging everything else inside his bag the way it was supposed to be. 

After several moments, he looked back up, suddenly aware that the ranger had not moved from his position on the edge of the clearing and was still staring at him like he had lost his head. He cocked an eyebrow. "Something wrong?" he asked. 

"No," the ranger replied, completely unconcerned. 

The elf nodded, expecting Aragorn would come sit down, but the human did not move, nor did his expression change. He stared back at his friend for several moments. Finally, "Are you sure there's nothing wrong?" 

"Sure," was the careless reply. 

Legolas frowned slightly. What was Strider doing? It was not like the man to not eat, and yet he had problems. Maybe if he ate, then his friend would. Satisfied with his reasoning, the elf prince returned to his meal, pulling out a loaf of bread, which was torn in shreds before being deposited in the fair being's mouth. He did his best to ignore the unwavering gaze of his human friend. 

Several minutes passed, while Legolas studiously ignored his friend to continue eating and Aragorn simply stared at the elf, a statue save for the shallow movement of his chest and the occasional blink of his eyes. 

Finally, though, the elf could stand it no longer and looked up, the absolute stillness of his human friend, who was normally so annoyingly irrepressible, getting to him. "What are you doing?" he demanded. 

To his surprise, the human smiled and calmly moved over to a different rock and sat down, pulling out his own food. "I thought you'd never ask," he replied, his smile widening as he glanced at the elf out of the corner of his eye. 

Legolas' mouth dropped open. Then he closed it and glared at the human. "You're incorrigible," he announced with a resigned sigh. 

Aragorn looked up, piece of meat hanging from his lips, which was quickly pulled inside with his tongue and swallowed. "I'm Adan," he said in response, as if that should be obvious. 

A strangled laugh sputtered past Legolas' lips, sounding more like the prince was choking than laughing. He returned his attention to his food, not trusting himself to look at the ranger without laughing. "Yes, that must be it." 

The rest of their meal was conducted in amused silence, each content to let the quiet be. 

Eventually, though, both finished; Aragorn concluding first despite his late start for he ate faster than the elf, who was continually bemused by his eating habits and the speed with which he consumed his food. 

The lithe being would have attributed it to a human thing had not he witnessed the twins' eating habits, and unless such an eating style was contagious, then the sons of Elrond were just as bad as Aragorn about practically inhaling their food instead of truly eating it, a feat which requires one to _chew_ their food. 

Thus it was that Legolas was gifted with the ranger's unwavering regard for a second time that day in less than an hour. 

He smiled without looking up. "Do you see something you like?" he inquired, his voice quite serious despite the smile. 

Aragorn tilted his head slightly to the side as he considered the question, and how he wanted to answer, though he never removed his intense gaze from his friend. Then an idea struck him. A slow smile stole across his face. "Actually, I was just thinking of something Elladan mentioned a while ago," he hedged. 

Legolas looked up, one eyebrow raised in silent question, curiosity momentarily over-riding common sense; anything having to do with one of the twins was better not pursued, he had learned. He supposed both his father and Lord Elrond would find some way to work in a comment about his youth if they knew he knew better and still asked. 

"I thought it rather odd. . . . But then, you know Elladan. When he has a mind to, he has rather, um, eccentric ideas. Of course, whether or not Elrohir has _more_ eccentric ideas is easily up for debate, especially since he was the one to propose that horrid escapade through the Midgewater Marshes when I was fifteen, or the Alligator glades when I was sixteen. 

"I can't imagine why he decided I needed to see either of those places, but I suppose I learned something from them. I learned Midges are annoying and bite, and that their bites itch terribly; and that Alligator's will more or less leave you alone unless you approach a nest or they're hungry." 

"Strider," Legolas interrupted before the human could go on. 

Aragorn blinked as if he had just realized the elf was there, even though he had been staring at him since the tirade started. "Yes?" 

"I'm finished. Perhaps we should content our hunt?" 

"Oh," the ranger said, looking thoughtful. "Yes, that might be a good idea." He jumped up, quickly sticking the cloth wraps back in his bag and hitched it over his shoulder. "So where to?" 

Legolas, meanwhile, had not moved, but was staring at his friend oddly. Aragorn turned to look at him and raised his own eyebrow. The elf said, "Are you feeling okay, Aragorn?" 

"Fine. Why?" 

"I don't know," the elf dismissed, standing up. "You're just--" He cut off abruptly as a thought occurred to him, a thought that should have occurred to him before. He glared at the human. "Not funny, Strider." He stalked away into the surrounding trees. 

The ranger tried unsuccessfully to suppress his growing smile. "What?" he asked as he followed the elf. 

The fair being merely shook his head, muttering something about the Valar punishing undeserving elves with human companions. Overhearing his companion's remarks, Aragorn's only response was to laugh. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

They bantered back and forth sporadically throughout the evening, Aragorn's heart lighter than it had been in months, even before his experience with the Ungwale. The ranger had never realized how much being away from his friend effected him. Now, though, he was glad he could spend this time with the elf prince. 

But as all good things, it could not last; and peace around the ranger was more fleeting than a spring shower. 

It was nearly dusk, with the sun (if they had been able to see it) just caressing the tops of the trees in the west, saying its last farewell for the day, and the elf and ranger had traveled many miles from the palace in their quiet wanderings. With the swift approach of night, they decided to turn back. 

Two steps later, they froze. A piercing howl split the air, chasing away the calm that had settled around the two despite the shadows, despite the evil they knew to inhabit the far reaches of Mirkwood. 

The friends glanced at each other, eyes wide in the gathering gloom. "Wolves," Legolas hissed. Aragorn nodded, hand going to the hilt of his sword as he looked around. The elf drew his bow, stringing it quickly and notching an arrow. 

"Where are they?" the ranger hissed back, his gaze darting back and forth, just before another howl split the air, this time seeming to come from the opposite direction. 

"I don't know," the elf replied. "But I fear they surround us." 

Aragorn pulled his sword, the metal ringing as it was pulled from the scabbard. There was another howl, closely followed by two more distinct from the first, evidencing the elf prince's claim. There were times when it was better to be wrong. 

Yet the wolves still had not shown themselves, and the trees that surrounded the companions were tall and menacing as they conspired to block view of the attackers hidden somewhere out of sight; though perhaps the tree blocked the elf and human from view as well. 

The ranger shifted slightly, turning his back toward the elf to more effectively defend the pair and ensure there was no way for the beasts to attack unseen. Another chorus of howls spilt the air, closer this time, quickly joined by the eerie sense of being watched. The hair at the back of the ranger's neck stood on end as if a static charge had passed over it and a shudder ran up his spine. His grip tightened on his sword hilt before nervously shifting the weapon in his hands, as the silence that followed the howls seemed to press in on him. 

He scowled slightly as an increasingly familiar feeling of panic rose in his throat. Ruthlessly, he pushed it back down. They were just wolves, fierce beasts, but no more intelligent than any other creature, and not as dangerous as the wargs. He set himself to wait. Unfortunately, or fortunately, he did not have to wait long. 

The first wolf stalked out of the clearing directly in front of Aragorn, quickly followed by another dozen, who stepped out from the trees at various intervals. Their teeth were bared, the sharp canines glistening slightly despite the poor light. Their thin forms showed off the bones in their back and hips; they were starving. 

The two friends glanced at each other. The wolves were on the last legs of their life. Soon, they would no longer have the strength to hunt, and they would be dead. The beasts' situation pulled at the young man's heart, never mind that the wolves wanted him for dinner. 

Then one leapt. Legolas' arrow shot out, catching the walking skeleton in the throat and dropping it quickly, never more to move. 

That, apparently, had been the signal to move, for another four leapt forward: two toward Legolas, the other two at the ranger. Arrows quickly found their mark in the skinny hides, though as they fell, others came forward to replace them. Aragorn swung at the beast closet to him, backing the creature off, and wondered why he had grabbed his sword instead of his bow. 

The creature surged forward and met the metal blade of his sword, his own momentum driving it through his head. The last sound the creature made was a quiet whimper with his last breath, then he, too, moved no more. A third Aragorn had not seen leapt at his head as the second circled around before him, bearing his fangs and growling. The impact knocked him to the floor, the wolf's claws digging painfully into the flesh of his left arm, his right trapped beneath his body. 

He tried to twist over and free his arm, squirming desperately in an attempt to unseat the beast that crouched over him before he could sink his jaws into his unprotected neck. Pain shot up his arm and he hissed, then adrenaline shot through him, the desire to escape, providing the strength he needed to finally move. 

The wolf on top of him staggered as he turned, slipping off-balance with the sudden change, his claws sliding down the man's arms and across his chest and legs. The jaws the had been coming for his neck, snapped closed with the surprise of the movement. 

Any relief, however, was short lived, for the second beast had taken the man's fall as weakness and jumped forward to get at his own meal, snapping jaws vying for the human's neck. Aragorn saw the sharp claws, but could not move. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and jerked as the sharp teeth connected with his throat, lightly grazing the skin, only to cautiously open them in surprise moments later when said teeth never bit down and ended his life. 

Legolas stood over him, stabbing an arrow quickly into the wolf that pinned his legs before stringing that same arrow onto his bow and releasing it into whichever beast happened to be closest to the friends. 

The elf bent down and pushed the wolf away from Aragorn's neck, then grabbed his hand and pulled the man to his feet. Three more came and they dispatched them as quickly as they could. The carcasses of nearly a dozen wolves littered the ground around them and still more approached out of the verdure, skin moving loosely across their bones as they stalked forward, desperate hunger showing in their eyes. 

The companions backed away warily. Legolas glanced up. "I think, perhaps, it's time we left our friends." 

Aragorn nodded, never letting the feral creatures out of his sight. "Did you have a particular location in mind?" 

Legolas let loose a string of arrows, felling four more creatures that had come too close and Aragorn beheaded another one who had found the courage, or was simply desperate enough, to charge the beings with sharp objects. 

"I've heard the trees are lovely this time of year," Legolas offered, sparing a quick glance for his friend. "What do you think?" 

Aragorn risked a glance at the tree behind him, judging the height to the first branch he would have to reach which was just over his head and slanted upwards, maybe eight feet above the ground. He thought he could make it, but knew he had to be sure. He stabbed another beast through the eye, then swung his sword in a wide arc to drive the next creature back. "Shall I follow you?" he asked. 

Legolas snorted. "No, I shall follow you." 

"Legolas, if you go first, you can cover me from the trees with your bow. If I go first, you must hold them off and jump. It makes more sense if you go," the ranger argued. 

The elf shook his head. "The moment I jump, they'll swarm you out of desperation." 

"Not if I can join you quickly and you hold them off." 

"Aragorn--" 

"Come on, Legolas," the young man insisted. "Don't be stubborn. We don't have time for this." 

The elf prince snorted again. "Me don't be stubborn," he grumbled indignantly. "You forget who's talking." The nimble being chanced a peek above, gauging the distance and the location, then let loose another volley into the creatures who attacked them. 

Before the human could say anything else, the elf jumped, lighting easily on the branch above the human's head, then dancing onto another one, shooting more arrows. Aragorn fended off another two beasts who had gotten past his friend's guard. 

"Come on, Strider!" he was bid. 

Free for the moment, he bent his knees and jumped, his left hand closing around the limb even as his right slipped because of the sword in his grip. He spun slightly as his weight shifted, held to the tree only by one arm, automatically waving his free hand in an attempt to stop the spin and gain purchase. 

His left hand slipped and he looked up, once again coming face-to-face with Legolas. The elf's slender fingers quickly wrapped around his wrist, holding him in place. A growl from below brought the ranger's attention back down in time for him to raise his legs to escape having one of them bitten off. 

He twirled his sword in his hand so the blade faced back towards him along his arm, then swung the appendage up for the elf to grab. The other's hand wrapped around his hand and pulled up, consequently drawing the ranger closer to the tree. His feet found purchase on the bark, and between the two of them, they were finally able to get the ranger upon the tree limb, both breathing hard from the effort. 

Aragorn had been leaning against the branch on his stomach, sword still gripped tightly in his hand while Legolas leaned against the tree trunk, watching the fierce beasts still on the ground. One or two still jumped at the tree a couple of times before turning to the dead that littered the ground. They fought over the carcasses for meat for supper, angry snarls filling the air, blood splattering as paws came down on the dead when another challenged that one's meal. 

Never one to be squeamish at the sight of blood, the spectacle still nauseated the young man and he was forced to look away. He sat up slowly, making sure his balance was good before releasing his tense grip on the branch to return his sword the its sheath. The slight sound of metal scraping could just barely be heard above the cries from below. 

He looked to Legolas. "We won't be sleeping in a tree again, will we?" he asked. 

The elf tore his gaze away from the frenzy below to gaze at his friend, a smile pulling at his lips. "Why? Don't you want to?" 

"After the last time, do _you_ want to?" 

Legolas laughed. "It wasn't so bad, Strider." The elf perched on a branch near him so he could face the human without making the man crane his neck all the way around. 

Aragorn looked away, a reluctant smile pulling at his own lips. "Yeah, well. That doesn't mean it needs to be repeated." He turned back quickly as his gaze fell on the wolves. "How are you doing on arrows?" 

"I'll need some more," the elf prince admitted. "I am running low." 

The man snorted, the sound self-derogative, and matched the tone. "I dare say you could use mine, as I tend not to think to use them myself." 

Legolas shifted, drawing the man's attention away from where it wandered yet again. "Do not blame yourself for choosing a weapon you are more comfortable with, Strider. The sword is your strength, the bow mine. In uncertainty, we all choose what brings the most comfort." 

Aragorn sighed. "As you say," he allowed. Though he could not completely accept the words, at some level they helped. He glanced once more at the wolves beneath him, who were beginning to calm down, their hunger overcoming their aggressiveness. "I think we had best leave, though." 

Legolas nodded. "Follow me." 

With that, he stood and moved to a different branch. More slowly, Aragorn followed. He stepped onto the branch the elf had just left and paused. "Make sure when you choose your next step, you keep in mind you've got a human behind you." 

The elf laughed quietly, a musical sound that did much to erase the shock of the short battle. Carefully, the two beings maneuvered through the trees, each step accomplished by the human after the elf, and before long, they were far enough from the wolves to feel comfortable descending from the boughs. 

Once again on solid ground, the two looked around, the light almost completely fled with the time the battle and subsequent escape had taken. Worse, though, was that neither now knew where they were. 

"Uh . . ." Aragorn murmured. "Where are we? Better yet, which way to the palace?" 

"A good question," Legolas answered just as quietly. "It deserves a better answer than I can give." 

Wide eyes turned on the fair being. "We're lost?" he demanded. 

The elf glared. "No. We simply don't know how to get where we're going from where we are." 

The answer, despite the situation, amused the young man and he chuckled softly. "Well, you know these woods better than I, Legolas. What do you propose?" 

The elf frowned, his keen eyes scanning their surroundings, desperate to find anything familiar by which he could direct them. He was not proud to be turned around inside his own home. Somewhere in the battle, he had lost his bearings on where they had come from and which way they were going. It was not something he wanted to admit to Aragorn, no matter how much he counted the other his friend. Still. . . . He sighed. "I do not know what to propose, my friend," he finally admitted. "I have no more of a clue than you. I would be willing to bet I have not come this way in many years, for nothing is familiar, and I cannot recall from whither we came hither. We would do better to take counsel together than rely on my judgments." 

Aragorn simply nodded, aware of how much it had taken for his friend to admit that, and willing to respect him by not teasing him about it--at least for now. "Well, we could wait here for the night, and hope morning brings enlightenment, but we have no food and little water. Of course, a hunting party could also stumble across us, but I find that unlikely in light of the fact that this hunt was not necessary in the first place." 

Legolas nodded. "And my father will not send out a search party for a little while yet as he is used to us being tardy." 

"We could pick a direction and start walking in it, though that has the potential to lead us far astray." The ranger frowned. "It is a choice among evils, it would seem." 

"So it is," the elf agreed. "Which evil would you rather face?" 

The young man considered in silence for several moments, his face turned away to regard the shadows that surrounded them, just as Legolas had done earlier. These woods, away from the palace, had always given him the creeps, dark and eerie as they were, and the idea of staying put did not appeal to him, yet neither did the prospect of wandering the woods, possibly drawing ever closer to Dol Guldor. He sighed. "I am afraid each strikes me evenly, my friend. Does one option pull you in any direction?" 

Legolas smiled wanly. "I would half like to see if we could not find a path," he admitted. 

Aragorn nodded, more than willing to seek a path if his friend desired it. He smiled wickedly. "We have another choice now: which direction?" 

Legolas chuckled wearily. "The choice made would lead to an even more difficult choice, would it not?" he asked wryly. 

"We could spin in circles with our eyes close, point, and then stop and follow which ever direction we pointed in." 

The amused horror on the prince's face at that suggestion sent the man into gales of laughter and he collapsed to the floor, only to catch his breath as his wounded shoulder came in touch with the ground. He breathed deeply to dispel the pain, then rolled slowly into a sitting position. 

Legolas crouched next to him, his fingers gingerly fingering the cloth to get a view of the other's wounds. "They're not bad," Aragorn denied, pushing the other's hands away. 

"Nay, Aragorn, likely they are not," Legolas agreed, but would not be gainsaid. "However, wolves have not the cleanest claws, and I would not see these scratches infected and what was not bad become very bad indeed." 

To that, Aragorn had nothing to say and sat quietly while the elf prince tended his wounds, hissing as the tender flesh was cleaned with some of the little water they had left. The ranger took a small sip to assuage some of his thirst and wet his parched throat. Before long, the wounds were clean and bandaged, the friends sitting quietly together before moving on. 

Legolas sighed. "Do you have any food left?" he asked. 

"Nay," Aragorn answered. His stomach growled. 

Legolas chuckled. "Well, I have a bit of meat left and some bread. Mayhap we should split that before continuing our journey, especially since we go into the unknown." 

Aragorn nodded and the elf brought our the meager rations, splitting them evenly when Aragorn refused to take a bigger piece, never mind that he was human. Recognizing the obstinate human, tired and sore as he was, was not going to give in, he simply did as he was bid. They ate in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. 

When they were done, they each took another swallow of their remaining water, and agreed on a direction to traverse the woods in, deciding to follow what appeared to be a long overgrown path, in the hopes that it lead somewhere familiar from which they could regroup and find their true path. 

It was now fully dark, and the light Legolas gave off was the only thing that provided any illumination to show their path, dim though it was. Past experience precluded making a fire, even to use as a torch, and silence engulfed them as they trudged through the undergrowth in search of something promising. How much time passed, neither could be sure of, but after what was likely only a few hours, another howl split the air. 

Both elf and man froze, blood going cold at the sound, for that was no animal howl, but that of an orc. Somehow, they had come across orcs, which likely meant they were further south than either had ever desired to be, nor been since their last unfortunate trip into the forests of Mirkwood. Ironically, they had gotten lost then, too. 

The human moved in close to his friend, standing so that their bodies touched with their backs to each other in an effort not to lose the other in the darkness. "Can you see anything?" Aragorn breathed, the words barely loud enough to be heard, even by the elf. 

"No." But both could hear the snapping twigs that could not be accounted for by the passage of small animals, for few of those resided in Mirkwood and the spiders did not break the limbs they traveled on. The sounds echoed from all around them. 

"Legolas," Aragorn breathed after a moment. "Who decided, do you think, that the wolves weren't enough?" 

"Perhaps the same one who decided a man and an elf would travel together." 

"Oh." Then there was a crash and a thud, and Aragorn was born bodily back as something heavy crashed into him, something he did not need to see to identify. He slammed solidly into a tree behind him, his breath escaping him in a whoosh. He ducked instinctively and heard the crash of metal impacting with the tree behind him. He shoved out and heard the orc stumble backwards. Quickly, he unsheathed his sword. 

He glanced around, desperate to find Legolas, and managed to pick out his faint glow several feet away. He also saw shadows, more than a dozen, moving among the trees, which he could just barely make out as darker shadows in the black dark. 

He swung his sword and felt the blade impact with something solid around neck level, the slight gurgle telling him it had been a living thing. He pulled the sword to him, sliding it along the other object, then turned and stabbed forward into a shadow that approached him, feeling a sword narrowly avoid skewering him the same way. 

Suddenly light flowed into the clearing, momentarily blinding the ranger who had been looking around wide-eyed in an attempt to see his opponents. Immediately big moths flew out of the trees and began hurling themselves at the fire, fluttering around the heads of the occupants nearby, and eyes glowed at them from out of the darkness. Neither elf nor man, though, had any attention to spare for either. 

Moving quickly, Aragorn dodged a swing from one orc, bringing his sword up to block the blade of another, then backhanded the one and stabbed his sword into the first as the other stumbled backwards. He turned his attention back to the first in time to halt a blow meant to bisect him long-wise and pushed it to the side, pinning his opponent's sword to the ground. 

Before he could take advantage of the position, another sword crashed towards him and he was forced to pull away, rolling under the blow and coming up in a crouch a few feet away. He held his blade defensively before him and an overeager orc impaled himself on the long blade. Aragorn pushed the creature back, then charged forward and beheaded another one not quick enough on his feet. 

Somewhere in the distance, Aragorn could hear the sing of his friend's elven bow, and knew the prince was taking advantage of the additional light to put his arrows to good use. He wished he had insisted Legolas take his arrows, more so now than before. 

He could not dwell on that, though, as another orc came at him, scimitar held high, ready to remove the ranger's head from his body. He ducked under the blow, spinning to place his back to the orc and reversing his hold on his blade, then stabbed it back into the other's chest before pulling it out and swinging it around to sink into the chest of the orc who stood before him. 

Fierce anger momentarily burned into the eyes of the Dúnadan as he stared at the orc before him. Then the creature's life fled, and the menace dulled. Aragorn turned to another. How long he fought thus, the ranger could not later recall, but eventually, the orcish menace thinned, dulled, so to speak, and he could once again spare attention for his friend. 

Desperate eyes searched the clearing for a glimpse of the elf. They found him engaged with a huge beast, just as stocky as the elf was lithe. The sounds around him disappeared save for the clash of blades; the scuffle of feet, one light the other heavy; the whistling of breath as the two beings before his sight moved. Brute force countered lithe grace and he was hard pressed to say which would win. 

Suddenly, though, he was not watching the battle before him, but was back in his dream, facing the inevitable conclusion that Legolas would die, would fall before his opponent. He saw the elf spin, his thin blades countering the heavier blade carried by the orc, sometimes quickly, sometimes just barely, but always there. 

Despair pulled at his thoughts, though, as a dread began to pull at his mind, the fear that the dream would become reality, mixing with memories of the elf prince being beaten, his blood spilled for retribution or cruel amusement. 

He could not breath. Legolas stepped back, his foot catching on a tree root, and he stumbled, his guard falling for just a moment, a moment he could not afford. The dark scimitar held in the orc's hand flashed forward, connecting with flesh, sinking deeply into his friend's body, wrenching a pained gasp from the fair being's lips as his eyes glazed with shock. The blade was pulled loose and the elf stumbled again, collapsing painfully to his knees. 

Aragorn could not move. 

"NO!" 


	8. Guilty Conscience

Hi, all! I nearly forgot to post today. *g* Not purposely, of course, but I had an 'oh shit' moment when I realized today was a posting day. Eh, remember that angst I mentioned earlier? Well, this is where it truly starts. Hehe. Aragorn and Legolas, especially Legolas, will not thank me. He hates it when that ranger broods, honestly. 

**Bill the Pony:** Oh, I've had experience with ff.net cutting things off. It kept erasing necessary zeros. Lol. Um, cliffies? *looks guilty* Well, take some medicine. I believe this one falls into the category of a cliffie, too. *backs away quickly with hands held up* But it's not my fault, really.****

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**Nell Marie:** Hm, you did hear a rumor about another story. The twins are back in that one. Where's the fun in one bad guy? One is mundane. Anyone can handle one threat. It takes skill to handle two. And, actually, I just realized I left out one. Oh, well. I'll have to add it somewhere else. Not this story, though. But the danger's not over yet.*evil grin* 

**Grumpy:** I completely understand the rock thing, truly! Lol. Actually, that just gave me a really good idea. Thanks! And they shouldn't be allowed outside. In fact, no one should be allowed to go near them, but we both know the chances of that. Enjoy the upcoming angst! 

**NaughtyNat:** *keeps a straight face* Drugs. As for how many stories, there's one more in the works after this, then I think I might bevote some time to writing that Boromir fic I keep brushing aside. After that . . . *shrugs* My ideas usually don't come all that close on the heels of the one before it. My mind won't work properly for it. Waiting months is completely ridiculous, and it's three days because I don't dare post every other day and I got bored posting once a week. A compromise. Lol. And this one is already written. If I wrote as I posted it'd conceivably be months between chapters. Especially when I get writer's block! Which is bothering me right now. *scowls deeply as she considers the next story which is only on chapter 5* My, this is getting long. Well, enjoy this chapter, too, and I hope time permits for you to review! *g* 

Now, onto the next chapter. That's what you really want, isn't it? *grins widely at voiced agreement* Well, then, who am I to argue? Lol. It's all yours.****

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**Chapter 8**

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**Guilty Conscience**

Pain coursed through Legolas' body. Suddenly, instead of being intensely connected to the battle, seeing everything around him, he was distant, everything moving with a dreamy slowness that resembled attempting trying to move quickly through water. Sound vaguely touched his hears, and he thought he heard someone scream, someone that sounded familiar, but he could not focus on the sounds. 

Slowly, he tracked his gaze up from the ground, raising it until he could see straight out from him and caught the pained and panicked eyes of Aragorn, who looked about the way he felt. Then on up, until he could once again look at his attacker. He watched the orc raise his scimitar up above his head. Watched it reach its apex, then begin its descent. 

Some rational, pain-free place in the back of his mind was screaming at him, demanding he move, demanding he fight back, dodge, something, _anything_ just so long as he did not just wait for the blow that would end his life to fall. 

Yet he could not. His body would not obey the commands his mind was sending. The blow, the wound, the shock, had forced them too far apart; and now the worries of the mind were no longer the concerns of the body. In a few short seconds, they never would be again. 

He closed his eyes, the one thing he was able to control. He did not want to see his death, did not want to watch the scimitar fall against his neck when he could no longer control his own body to avoid such a fate; did not want to chance his gaze falling on Aragorn, to see his eyes as life fled his friend, did not want to subject the young man to that. He closed his eyes, and waited. 

Waited for death. 

It did not come when he thought it would, and he opened his eyes. Confused blue orbs took in the sight of Aragorn fighting the huge orc that had been going to kill him, and dread filled his heart. Surely Aragorn could not win. He did not want the human to die, as well. 

Again his mind screamed, screamed at him to move, to help, to _do_ something. Again he could not. Agony of a different kind flowed through him, condemning him as weak for not being able to help his friend in his time of need. He knew, if Aragorn died, it would be his fault. 

Not even that thought, painful and torturous as it was, could force the elf to move. It could not force the blood that leaked from his veins back into his body to support his life and hold it to this world. It could not support him when his body failed, and the elf prince slowly collapsed to the ground, slipping sideways when his strength was gone. 

Through tired eyes that drifted closed against his will, he watched Aragorn fight, and prayed to anyone who would listen for his friend be all right when all was done. 

Then the darkness closed around him, and he saw no more. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Aragorn slammed his blade against the scimitar of the orc, his fury such that the evil creature had to take a step back. He followed it with another punishing blow, and felt the shock of the impact travel up his arms to his shoulders as the other met the attack strength for strength. 

The orc, likely a captain, pushed, shoving the ranger off-balance and he stumbled back, twisting to stay on his feet. The whistle of metal passing quickly through the air hummed in his ears as the blade nearly took his head from his shoulders. 

He set himself quickly and met the next attack, pivoting at the last moment to burn off some of the power of the strike. This time it was the orc captain who stumbled. Aragorn strengthened his grip and stabbed it towards the creature's loins so it was harder to avoid. 

The blow grazed its intended target, drawing black blood that percolated down the orcs side. It did nothing to slow the captain and Aragorn was forced to duck the next swing, moving close enough that he could punch the creature's sternum as he passed. A choked gasp broke the battle sounds, the only sounds around them, and sent a burst of glee through the human as he spun, refusing to leave his back to the foul creature. 

A hasty strike from his opponent missed him easily. He feinted to the right, the captain moving with him, then reversed and attacked from the left, striking another glancing blow, this time to the orc's right flank. 

An angry growl emanated from the orc captain, and enraged eyes met the human's briefly before the orc charged, startling the man with how quickly he moved. Two large hands wrapped around Aragorn's throat, and his hands automatically went to the other's forearms. He pulled with all his might, attempting to pry the vices away from his throat to allow oxygen to once again flow into his body. It did not work. 

His fingernails, short though they were, dug into the skin and tore bloody rivulets across the orc's wrists as he attempted to free himself. Panic made his efforts frantic. If he died, then Legolas died as there would be no one left to help him. 

His silver gaze, growing cloudy, returned to the orc captain, and he saw mad hatred there, and malicious triumph, satisfaction. Slowly, the other's fists were tightening, further denying him oxygen, slowly leading him to death by asphyxiation. It was not a way he would have chosen to die, and if he could help it, he would not die now. 

He dropped his hands, inching his right one down near his inner thigh where he kept a dagger. So intent was his opponent, that he never noticed the change in the human's attentions. So ignorant was he, that he never even considered that he could be in danger from the pathetic human in his grasp. Aragorn was used to being underestimated, for he had grown up with elves, and he had learned to use that to his advantage. 

Never dropping the orc's gaze, he got his fist around the dagger and slowly drew it from it's sheath, careful to keep the movement unobtrusive. Dark spots were beginning to dance before his eyes, gradually increasing to obscure more of his vision. His lungs burned from lack of oxygen, contracting in on themselves as they struggled to draw what was not there; he did not have much time left. 

Sure he had a secure hold on the dagger, he swung his arm up and over, burying the small blade into the side of the orc captain's neck. It severed his trachea, ligaments, nerves, and plowed straight past his spine, chipping the vertebrae in his neck. Blood slid past the human's fingers, even as the iron grip around his neck loosened with the lose of feeling and control in the orc, as he could no longer control his body. Aragorn gasped air into lungs greedy for the life-giving gas. 

Awareness lasted in the terrible creature's eyes for seconds more as his life faded, terrible hate flaring brightly in their depths even as confusion faded. Then they were dark, glassy orbs that lacked a will behind them, and the beast collapsed to the ground. 

Aragorn stumbled backwards, still dragging breath into his tortured lungs, bereft of the strength to hold himself up on his own. His hand went to his throat as he stared, wide-eyed, at the creature who had almost killed him. 

The man's reeling mind locked onto Legolas, and frantic eyes searched out the limp form of his friend. They fell on the pale being, motionless less than ten feet away. Darting forward on unsteady legs, the ranger dropped to the ground beside his friend, his labored breathing harsh to his own ears as he frantically searched for a sign of life in the form before him. 

Shaking fingers hindered his efforts, and fear escalated, sending his rapid breathing whistling through his lungs even faster as his heart-rate sky-rocketed. His head spun, the world performing a perfect circle around him and he fell forward, shooting out a hand at the last minute to keep him from landing on Legolas. 

Then, he found a pulse. A weak, flighty thing that was but a shadow of the normal beat, erratic as the blood flow that sustained it tapered off and there was not enough circulation to maintain the beating of the elf's heart. 

Aragorn's breath caught in his throat as two realizations flew through his brain, one sending relief while the other renewed his panic; first, that Legolas was alive, then, that he was going to die if something were not done quickly. 

His hands shook, and his racing mind would not cooperate. His breath came racing far too quickly and the world started to black out of focus. 

_Calm, my son, you cannot help anyone unless you are calm._

He took a deep breath and held it, then let it out slowly, forcing his body to match the pace he was forcing his mind to set. Slow. 

_You must be calm so you can think clearly. Clear minds work best to save lives._

Clear minds. Silver eyes stared at his friend. The elf was motionless and too pale by far, even for an elf. His breaths were shallow and his eyes were closed. Blood, too much blood, pooled around the fair being. 

He reached forward and touched the wound tentatively as his mind slowly returned from the frantic spin it had engaged in. Then, as if something had snapped into place, he snapped into action. He grabbed one of their packs and quickly pulled out the bandages experience had convinced them needed to be carried in double supply. Water, herbs, and a bowl followed the bandages. 

If nothing else, he had gained experience in mixing herbs and poultices through the years, and he used that familiarity now to speed the process. Wounds made by orc blades were especially not new and he prayed desperately for there to be no poison. He did not have the expertise nor the supplies to effectively deal with Morgul poison. 

He folded two bandages to form two pads and soaked each into the mixture he had made. Then he washed the wound, front and back with water. That done, he took one pad and held it against Legolas' back, and the other one he pressed against the elf's chest, holding both as firmly as he could. 

The coagulate he had soaked the bandages with would, he hoped, speed up the elf's normal body functions and render the wound simply dangerous and not life-threatening. 

Crashing sounds drew his attention away from the prone form before him. Cloudy gray eyes scanned the surrounding forest, the light from the fire flickering in the worried depths. But despite the light, the ranger could make out no forms beyond the clearing. He frowned. 

Turning back to Legolas, he removed the back cloth carefully, pleased to note the bleeding had stopped. A check of the front revealed similar results, and Aragorn sighed in partial relief. That danger was halted. 

With a speed and dexterity generally foreign among the race of men, the Dúnadan bound the elf's wound, ensuring the bandages were wrapped tightly to discourage renewed blood loss. He turned back through their packs and searched them quickly, looking for what, he was no entirely sure, but knew a few seconds later that it was not there. 

The young man bit his lip as he turned back to his friend and leaned forward, gently brushing stray wisps of hair away from the fair being's face. Tears he could not force away gathered in his eyes, blurring his vision. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Legolas', rocking slightly in his anguish. 

If Legolas died, it would be his fault. He had known there was danger, had known the elf would lose a fight with another, had known the being would fall, and still he had suggested a hunt. He had been the one to suggest this outing, and he had potentially led his best friend to his death, all because he did not want to languish for a day at the palace. 

A single sob worked its way out of his throat and the tears escaped despite his best efforts to hold them at bay. The drops of despair sparkled brightly as they fell, contrasting the darkness that gathered inside the one who shed them. 

Shakily, Aragorn pulled back and took in the still features, idly brushing away his own tear from Legolas' face. He leaned down again, placing his lips beside the other's ear. "Hold on, Legolas," he whispered in elvish. "Please don't leave me. Not here; not now." 

He thought about what Legolas would do if he caught the human blaming himself and laughed, the sound trembling and faint, more a sob than anything else. "Stay, my friend. Come back so you can give me grief. Please. . . ." 

Another group of snapping branches caught his attention, and his voice trailed off to silence. Shimmering eyes once again scanned their surroundings. Now more than ever, he wished he had elvish sight and could make out more than his human eyes would allow. Shadows danced eerily around him in the flickering fire light. 

The ranger turned back to his friend and picked up one of the water skins. Scooting until he cradled Legolas' head in his lap, he slowly began trickling water into the other's mouth, making sure each amount was swallowed before adding more. 

That done, he looked around. It was probably not wise for him to continue through Mirkwood's forests as he could not see and could not risk a fire; the acrid scent of burning moth bodies still reached his senses, dulled though they were by exposure. And the eyes still surrounded them. However, staying in the last location of an orc attack was not a healthy option, either. 

"Legolas. . . ." he started, but could not finish. His friend had lost so much blood. Too much blood. His hand rested against the fair being's chest, feeling the heart that beat beneath his palm: too slow, too weak. The only thing that gave him comfort was that it was there. 

A low growl sounded in the darkness and his fingers clenched in the fabric of Legolas' shirt. He could not move, but he had to. 

Determined not to let his weaknesses and failures doom his friend even more than they already had, the young man scooped the elf up in his arms and stood. Legolas was light in his grasp, insubstantial, almost like melting snow that shrunk even as you tried to hold onto it. Despite this, the strain on Aragorn's arms still made him hiss in pain, and he clutched his precious burden closer as his arms threatened to loosen and drop the elf. 

As soon as the pain receded, he turned slowly in a circle, attempting to determine the best course to take towards safety--a difficult task since he had no idea which direction safety lay in. He frowned, then closed his eyes and started walking, opening them almost immediately though he did not allow himself to question their course. The only thing he could do was walk, and hope. 

He snorted. Hope. Hope, in his opinion, was severely over-rated. It did you no good if your friend was dead. 

A root reached up and grabbed his foot as he entered the dark confines outside the fire's reach, and the human stumbled, barely stifling a cry as tired muscles were forced to compensate, not only for his own radically shifted weight, but for the added weight of Legolas. 

Fire seemed to shoot up his back with the strain of keeping both of them from falling. He did not quite succeed, but somehow managed to twist and take the impact himself, connecting solidly with a large tree. His head thudded dully against the bark and odd yellowish lights flashed before his eyes, almost like fading sun spots. 

The ranger shook his head, then slowly pushed himself back into a standing position. Obviously, it would be wiser to take smaller steps. A deep breath to steady his nerves, and the young man began walking again, bearing more than simply an unconscious elf. 

The weight of the whole of Middle-earth had landed on his shoulders, placed there by his own sense of responsibility, passed down through the ages from Isildur. Because of his forefather's failure to destroy the Ring, and thus, evil, the darkness that engulfed Mirkwood was his fault. The orcs that had attacked them, were a sign of his failure, and ultimately his fault. Everything wrong that happened, every time one of his friends got hurt, it was his fault. 

It is a curse among caring individuals to take on all the blame when loved one's are injured, thinking that somehow, someway, something could have been done differently that would have prevented the whole mess. Aragorn, being one of the more compassionate souls of Middle-earth, more than willingly accepted every accusation his guilt riddled mind could deal out. 

Sauron's existence, orcs, wargs, foul creatures created by Sauron, the plight of those deceived by the Deceiver, every injury ever incurred by his friend--even that terrible time in Dorolyn, the darkness in Moria, Celebrian's passage, his father's worry, his brothers' anxiety, every ache, ill, or general mischance that sprung to mind, was firmly heaped upon shoulders already too weary to bear them, yet bear them he did. 

He walked on blindly. Even had darkness not covered the forest, he would still have seen nothing he passed, lost in self-condemnation. Had his mind offered up the thought, he would have unhesitatingly shouldered the blame for the destruction of the Trees of Valinor and the desecration of Middle-earth, whether he could substantiate such a claim or no, but his tired mind was not willing to go back that far, especially into lessons he only half remembered. 

Hours passed as he stumbled on in the dark with no conception of where he was going or if he was even heading further away from trouble. How long and how far were questions he could not have puzzled out to save his life. 

It worried him that Legolas had not woken, and it scared him that the elf's eyes were still closed. He could barely see the faint blue glow around his friend, and it seemed to be growing fainter every moment that passed. 

Slowly, his mind grasped a thought it had been skirting for many hours, always present but ignored, over-looked, shied from: _Legolas is dying._

**_And it's all my fault._**

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_You couldn't have done any more than you did. There were many Orcs; if not him then it would have been you.****_

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_**Better me than him. **_

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_You could not survive that wound.****_

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_**He's not either. Better Legolas remain while I depart than the other way around. I will make that journey one day anyway.**_

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_But not before your time._

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_**It should never be his time!**_

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_Every path can not be foretold. Mayhap he had to die so you could live and fulfill your destiny.****_

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_**I do not want my destiny.**_

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_That is not yours to decide.****_

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_**I cannot live while he dies.**_

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_You must, or all is lost, and the destruction of Middle-earth truly will lie on your shoulders. Only you will not be the one to suffer it. _

He glanced down at the still form in his arms. It would be those left behind, Lord Elrond, his brothers, countless friends in countless lands, and his kin who suffered the consequences of his actions. He knew, and yet the heart is difficult to convince with the mind. Knowing something and feeling the same are rarely managed when your heart desires one thing and your mind insists another. 

It was strange, but Legolas almost looked peaceful, save that he was far too still. Elvish humor had occasion to annoy and befuddle him; elvish energy tried his patience; elvish senses, grace, and a dozen other things which he could never hope to achieve made him feel left out, but at this moment, he would give just about anything for the elf prince to suddenly wake up and do any one of a hundred things which had tried him before. 

The knowledge that it would not happen brought tears to his eyes, and he bit his lip savagely to still them. He could not afford to break down, not here, not now, while Legolas' life still hung in the balance; he had to get him to safety. 

_Nowhere is safe while the Shadow still exists._

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_**And the Shadow still exists because of me. I am nothing but trouble for all of Middle-earth. How can they ever think I am to save it?**_

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_Because all things are revealed in time._

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_**Time, Legolas does not have time.**_

He stumbled again, this time unable to break his fall with a convenient tree, and both tumbled to the ground. The ranger's outstretched hands grasped futilely at the falling elf, then connected painfully with the ground, the left one half-landing on a tree root and twisting painfully, shooting fire up his arm to his shoulder. Pain from compacting bones shot up his right, then he was rolling through the dark black. 

Seconds later he finally found that tree he had missed before, and his momentum was checked sharply. His head snapped back and his jaw clapped shut, the sound clearly audible to any in at least a five foot radius. His feet, too, kept moving and his back protested sharply as his body attempted to wrap around the tree. 

He groaned but could not find the strength to move. It crossed his mind that he possibly could not and could create no disappointment for that fact. His body, in fact, much preferred the idea of staying put and not moving. His left arm, however, fiercely objected to being laid on. 

Slowly, he shifted his body so that he lay on his back instead of his side, his right arm automatically coming up to grip his left and he felt something wet and sticky. He frowned, then moved his fingers to his lips so he could taste the substance. Realization of what it was, though, did not make him feel any better as it came with another realization: his shoulder was bleeding again. 

_Legolas will not be pleased._

Legolas. His eyes snapped open and he shot up, despite his screaming back. He twisted onto his hands and knees, desperately searching the dark for his dropped friend, his twisted wrist forgotten. Forgotten, that is, until it dropped him back to the ground and forced him to roll into the tree for the second time in less than ten minutes. His other hand immediately grasped the wrist, holding it steady. Once the pain had subsided, he felt it for broken bones and was relieved to find none. 

More carefully this time, he again shifted to go looking for his friend, mindful not to put too much weight on his sprained wrist. Catching his weight on his mildly protesting right arm, he used his left to search before him, hoping to connect with something that was not roots or leaves or branches. 

It seemed to take forever, nothing but roots and fallen branches coming to his hand, his progress agonizingly slow, both because he could not move quickly on his knees on one hand and because he had to pause and search around him. Panic, worry, and dread were conspiring to crush him. There was no light to lead him. 

How could he have dropped him? Legolas was his charge. He was supposed to protect him, especially since he could not protect himself. And what did he do? He went and dropped him. What kind of healer would he be if he could not even take care of his best friend? What if his carelessness had cost the elf his life? His breath caught on that thought, and tears he did not want to shed pushed at his eyes, gathering power until they forced their way past his lids to slid down his cheeks. 

Aragorn bit his lip and kept moving. He had to find the elf prince, and soon, or any hope he had of helping him would be lost. Legolas had not been doing so well _before_ he was dropped. The ranger was afraid to see what shape he was in now. 

His hand searched blindly before, and every second that passed brought another condemnation for stupidity, carelessness, clumsiness--an elf never would have dropped _him _like that (it completely slipped his mind that he was _not_, in fact, an elf), even shortsightedness. Anything, so long as the blame fell squarely on his shoulders. 

Then, after an eternity, the texture beneath his hand changed. The ground now felt stringy, and after a moment he realized that meant hair. Tense and hopeful, he quickly felt along the hair for a face to go with it. 

"Legolas," he whispered, praying for a response but not expecting one. His prayers were disappointed. His hand moved across forehead and contacted the pits of eyes, then the raise of nose, and finally, the mouth and chin. Having discovered his friend, and with a good idea of how he lay, Aragorn scooted forward so he was directly next to his friend. 

His left hand slid back down the elf's hair, a soothing gesture that was more for the ranger's own nerves than any comfort it could give Legolas. With his right, he checked for a pulsed. He found it easily enough, despite the slowness of the pulse. A quiet sigh slid past his lips, and he moved to check for new injuries, his hands sliding slowly and carefully down the length of the still form, beginning at his neck and ending at his feet. Nothing appeared to be broken; for that, he was grateful. 

Aragorn moved back up near the other's head. "Legolas," he murmured. "I'm so sorry, my friend. So sorry." He slid his hands beneath the other's head, cradling it in his hands. Something sticky and cold touched his fingers, and Aragorn's blood ran cold in sympathy. He recognized that feeling. Somehow, he managed to keep his head and checked the wound as carefully and thoroughly as he could with no light. 

It did not appear to be serious, but merely a light cut that had split the skin (head injuries always bled alot), and not done any damage to the skull beneath. The cut did not appear to be that deep. What concerned him, though, was the blood. Legolas could not afford to lose any more blood. 

Again feeling around in the dark, the ranger found their pack and extracted bandages by touch. He dragged himself and the pack back to the elf's side and began wrapping the wound. He had no water, and no light to see with if he had had it. What he needed to do now, was start moving again and hope to come upon help. 

That hope was slim. Finished, he cautiously picked the elf back up and began moving in, he thought, the same direction he had been heading before. He tested his steps carefully before transferring his weight, berating himself for not having done so sooner, well aware that that fall could very well have meant Legolas' death, and that another would all but insure it; his progress was slow. 

His whole attention was focused on not falling, on placing his feet in just the right spot so that he did not lose his balance, did not stumble, did not fall, did not impact another tree. At the end of an hour, he had traveled maybe three dozen feet. None of this mattered, though, for the ranger could risk moving no faster, and had no particular goal in mind. He simply had to move; staying still got them no closer to help. 

He was so focused on not falling, that he never noticed other's coming around him (not that he could have seen them). In fact, he very nearly walked through one of them, his mind just barely recognizing the sharp point that pressed into his neck for what it was: an arrow. He stopped. 

Now that he was stopped, he realized they were surrounded. He closed his eyes, hope leaving him. They were surrounded, outnumbered, and he was hampered by Legolas' presence in his arms. He was helpless, and at the mercy of whoever had found him. 

They closed in. 


	9. Unexpected Haven

Hi, all! I very nearly forgot again. *rolls eyes* But I have a reason this time. I have Homecoming tonight, and my plans aren't set. I'm going into melt down. But I'll post anyway or it'll be tomorrow at noon before I attempt to post again. 

**Grumpy:** Ai, yes, ff.net was being difficult. Stupid thing. And, uh, Aragorn's nightmares are about to become rather . . . Worse. *smiles grimly* Mm, as for what he was looking for. . . . How about I wait, and if by the last chapter you don't know, I'll tell you? How does that sound? *g* Enter the owners of the sharp pointy things. And I happen to think this chapter is fairly good, too. Lol. At least, I'm not having a fit about posting it. My favorite is still *clamps hands over mouth* to come. *g* 

**Nell Marie:** *bows gallantly* I try. Honestly, I do. If it doesn't feel right, then it doesn't go over right, or at least I think so.And, I think, that asking what could possibly happen next is a bad thing. Didn't anyone ever tell you that? *looks wide-eyed* What happens next is what prompted this whole story.It has just taken a really long time to get there. 

**Deana:** hehe. There are a couple things that come to mind when I think of puns: James Bond, Pokemon, and double entendees. Don't ask why. *g* "Good" is subjective, but we shall see. Did his dream come true? Hmm. Maybe, maybe not. Muahahahah. *g* 

**Bill the Pony:** No medication!? No! *looks agast* That cannot be. Mm, I'm not sure if this chapter counts as a cliffie or not. I don't think so, but then, I already know what's going to happen, so it doesn't surprise me at all. *g* 

**NaughtyNat**, is this one yours? I seem to remember a similar incident somewhere else, where no name appeared. Lol. So, this one seems like yours. Gandalf actually had nothing to do with it. I got these from someone far less scrupulous. At peril of death, too. Hehe. Wow, babysitting. . . .I hate babysitting. It would likely be wise for me to never have children. I can't stand being around little ones for so long.I'm glad the descriptions are good. I'm always worried I take it too far. You know, Aragorn gets plenty of advice, from Elrond, from Legolas, from his brothers, and it doesn't ever really leave him, he just hasn't figured out how to listen to it yet. *g* lol. I wonder who's fault that is? *looks innocent and begins whistling* hehe. 

Okay, now on to the next chapter. I hope it lives up to everybody's high standards. *g* Next chapter on Tuesday. *repeats in an effort to remember it* So have fun! And review. Love reviews. They're inspiring. *g*****

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**Chapter 9**

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**Unexpected Haven**

"Who are you and from where do you hail?" a harsh voice demanded before him. "Speak or die." 

He frowned slightly, not exactly sure what he had expected, but aware this was not it. "Strider, Ranger of the North," he managed eventually. "I seek aide for my friend. We were attacked by Wargs and Orcs. I mean no harm." 

There was movement in the dark, frantic whispering. He wished he had elven ears and could make out what they were saying. As it was, he only caught words, disconnected phrases: useful . . . rangers . . . men . . . an opportunity . . . no . . . fine. He had no idea if they were spoken by the same person or several, but he thought they came from three separate locations. 

Then a hand landed on his left shoulder and he grimaced in pain. "You will come with us," the voice said. Then two people approached him from either side and grabbed his arms, leading him through the darkness. His body tensed, expecting hard contact with a tree with every step. Unconsciously, his grip tightened on the still form of his friend. 

They walked for several hours, silence hanging around the group. None of their mysterious helpers (captors?) said a word after those initial few. Aragorn, during the brief moments he turned away from the monitoring of his friend, caught an air of grim nervousness combined with determination. It was a feeling he was used to getting around novices exposed to combat for the first time, yet these beings did not seem inexperienced. 

The ease with which they navigated the dark forest spoke of long familiarity, of a path frequently trodden. Their bearing, too, spoke of long experience. He wished he could see them. More than that, though, he wished he could see Legolas. 

The elf's extended time unconcscious concerned him. He had neither awakened nor stirred, and the ranger hoped desperately that no injuries persisted that were worse than he had thought, or were yet hidden beyond his sight. The realization that along with the head injury, Legolas could have gained internal damage that he could not detect weighed heavily on his mind. Also, without light he had been unable to determine if the head wound included a concussion. 

That he had yet to waken and had never been awake made him jittery, a nervous excitement that kept adrenaline flowing through his veins, sustaining him and yet draining his energy at the same time. Of Númenorean descent though he was, Aragorn could not sustain that state for much longer with neither food nor drink nor rest. Something would have to give, and the ranger feared it would be him, and that it would happen before he could see to Legolas. 

Eventually, the trees began to thin and Aragorn caught sight of earth seeming rising up to form a wall before them. He had never known the ground to that before and he was highly confused. Did it seek to block their passage? Only elf-enchanted realms or the cruel Caradras were known-- 

He blinked in surprise, the answer hitting him quite suddenly. Mountains, of course. The young man was sure that had Legolas known his thoughts he would have burst out laughing hysterically and Aragorn would never be able to it down. Already tired, the ranger was hard-pressed not to burst out laughing himself. 

The appearance of mountains meant one thing: he now knew where they were. In the middle of Mirkwood, there was only one mountain range: The Mountains of Mirkwood a fair distance from the palace but no where near as close to Dol Guldor as they had feared they had somehow managed to accomplish in less than a day's travel. Of course, they never should have been able to make the Mountains, either. 

Of course, now that he knew roughly where they were, he also had to wonder that orcs were so close to the elven realm. It was disquieting to him and the ranger was sure Legolas would find it even more so; he was fiercely protective of his home and decidely hostile towards anything evil that dared to encroach upon it, and far from welcoming to anything that was questionable and dared enter his realm, as were many of the other elves. The flip- side was that so long as one stayed away, they could hardly care less what happened. 

It was a mentality Aragorn hardly shared. The suffering of all the free peoples of Middle-earth concerned him greatly, be they men, elves or even dwarves. The evil that roamed Arda concerned him greatly, in fact, and his heart would not allow him to dismiss any species to such a dark fate. 

That is not to say, however, that he did not understand. As much as was possible for someone raised differently, he did. The wood-elves were largely secluded, rarely having visitors and kept very much to themselves, an arrangement that was almost as much necessity as preference. Seclusion rarely gave itself to engendering concern for other nations or interest in others' affairs. Add to that the encroaching darkness and the constant threat the elves had to defend against, and wide traveling became near impossible. 

Legolas, he knew, was more open to interactions with different species. He enjoyed traveling--most of the time, and had overcome much of his hesitancies toward men, and had even developed a kind of . . . understanding with the dwarves, for all that he still disliked them intensely. It made their friendship easier that the elf was willing to accept the human despite their differences. Aragorn did not see it, of course, but it was more _because_ of his differences that Legolas truly cherished his friend. 

Eventually, small lights began to intrude on his vision, visible as small pinpricks in the distance that seemed to dance among the trees, vanishing and reappearing as the travellers' view shifted. It was mesmerizing, actually, but Aragorn appreciated the effect only so far as it allowed him to get a better view of his friend. 

The elf's natural glow had been practically non-existent after his injuires, only the briefest flickers lighting up the area and had been swallowed by the sheer blackness of Mirkwood. Had it been anywhere else, Aragorn was sure he would have been able to see at least a slight glow from the elf. Now, though, he could finally get a glance of his friend. 

His eyes were closed, and his face pale where dirt did not shade it a darker color. No color tinted his cheeks to indicate a fever, which the human took to be a good sign, and neither was he unusually cool, which was definately a good sign. He checked his pulse, and discovered that, while slow, it had evened out and was no longer so terrifyingly erratic. 

That, too, was a good sign. He could now hope that Legolas' elven body was recovering and his wounds were healing. The only thing that could make him completely confident of such an opinion, though, was if the elf prince would wake up. He wanted desperately for his friend to wake up. 

As they neared the village, he also managed to get his first true look at their new friends. The one he took to be the leader was tall, about two inches shorter than he was, with straight jet black hair cut just below his ears. He had slightly aristocratic features, with defined cheekbones and a straight nose. His eyes were what was the most striking, though; a pale ice blue that was intense. Aragorn had a feeling that if he tried, he would look thoroughly insane. There was just something about eyes so light in color that leant a dangerous air. Another had curly brown hair and dark brown eyes that were almost black and looked it in the darkness. That one appeared to be the youngest of the lot. 

There were eight men and each carried a crossbow and were dressed not so differently form the wood-elves, save for the design and cut of the clothing. The idea, however, was obviously the same: to blend in. He glanced behind him and found himself staring into emerald green eyes in a pale face, freckles just visible across the man's nose, with red-gold hair. The man who walked next to him had similar eyes and hair but looked older by about four years and was likely a brother. The other four had drifted too far away for him to observe, and he turned his attention back to the village they were approaching and were now close enough to see. 

The houses were small and made of carefully packed mud bricks. Tarps hung over the doors and the roofs were covered in straw, the points sticking into the air and little lines of smoke curling from the tops of some of them. 

It was a quiet sort of village, small and out of the way, sparsely populated if the number of houses were any indication. No one was out and the ranger glanced up, catching sight of stars above him, his eyes finding Earendil with little difficulty. Lord Erlond's father, he mused, then halted suddenly, his eyes going wide. 

Fear had struck him, almost a physical blow, knocking out his air. The most perturbing part was that it was not his fear: it was the fear in the village. Wide eyes blinked quickly as his tired and over-stressed mind tried to puzzle out what it all meant. 

A couple of his new companions glared at him irritably while the leader glanced at him curiously. "Is something wrong, Ranger?" he asked. 

Apprehension, vague an implacable, curled up his spine. He was going to have to start telling people not to call him "Ranger." The people who did usually did not have his best interests at heart. Still. . . . "No, nothing is wrong," he replied and continued walking, working hard to ignore a distant part of his mind that started roaring with laughter: never was "nothing" wrong. 

The leader led him to a small shack, his pale eyes almost seeming to disappear into the white of his eyes in the darkness, sending a shudder down the ranger's back. The man turned. "You can stay here this night. Supplies and food will be brought to you. We ask only that you remain in here until you are retrieved tomorrow." 

Aragorn nodded, then carried the elf inside, the tarp swishing loudly behind him. If nothing else, it was comforting to know they were not being _locked_ in. The ranger was not too fond of locks, especially locks which secured doors. Especially doors that secured the only entrance or exit from the room he was stuck in. 

There was a short cot about a foot above the ground in the back of the shack, and Aragorn gently lowered the elf prince onto, exceedingly careful of the other's wounds. Carefully, he unwound both chest and head wound to see how they fared; neither appeared to be too terrible, and he felt that as soon as Legolas' blood pressure raised, he would be more or less well again. 

He looked up as three women entered: one bearing a tray with various food, another a pail, and another a bag. All three items were set near him and the women left, their job accomplished, without ever saying a word. 

Curious, he checked the contents, discovering water and several bandages and healing herbs. It was the sugar, though, that he was most grateful to find. He reached toward his own pack just in time for two more people to enter, each bearing a rather large armful of firewood. This, too, was delivered in silence and the people gone without a word. 

The ranger blinked, but decided, for the moment at least, he did not want to know. Taking the arrival of the wood as good luck he was sure would not last, he stacked it and started a fire in the small firepit he located not too far from his current position. Then he took a small bowl, designed for such things, and poured water into it before setting it on the fire to boil. 

While he waited, he attended to the task of cleaning the prince's wounds to ensure they would not become infected. Both had stopped bleeding, and were not terribly upset when he cleaned them, only a small trickle of blood escaping before stopping. He rebound both and leaned forward, hovering over Legolas so he could see the other's eyes. Carefully, he pried each one open and was pleased to note they were not unevenly dilated nor dilated too much or too little. The elf, at least, did not have a concusion. 

He turned back to the pot with it's boiling water and removed it from the fire, setting it on a heat pad his father had insisted on packing years ago, after having determined a need for it. 

~*~ 

_"Here, my son," the lord of Rivendell said, placing a rubbery square in the youth's hands._

__

_Aragorn looked at it with a small frown before looking back into the blue eyes of his fahter. "What's this for, Ada?"_

__

_"You mean you do not recognize it?"_

__

_The amusement in that voice was enough to convince the ranger of a closer look, and he studied it carefully, turning the object over for better and more thorough inspection. It was _still_ just a flat rubber square. He bounced it slightly, then held it flat in his left hand. And like he had just been struck with a bolt of lightning, he knew what it was: a heat pad, for placing hot objects on so as not to destroy other surfaces._

__

_He met the amused glance of Lord Elrond. "But, Ada, what do I need this for? I travel the Wilds, there is no furniture there to mess up. And I haven't done that in years!"_

__

_Elrond laughed. "Indeed you have not, though that may be because you are the one being treated and not the other way around."_

__

_"Ada!"_

__

_The elf lord laughed harder, then waved him to silence. "Peace, ion nin. You never know when you might need it; a place to set a hot object you know is safe, when you cannnot be sure of anything else, might come in handy."_

__

_"You aren't predicting trouble, are you, Father?" Aragorn asked suspiciously._

__

_The disbelief on the elf lord's face nearly set the young man off in a fit of giggles. "With you, anything is possible, and trouble is likely. Should your path once again cross that of the prince of Mirkwood, I would wager it shifts to trouble is unavoidable."_

__

_Aragorn blinked, a slight frown pulling at his lips, even though his eyes sparkled. "Your faith is simply overwhelming, Ada," he said dryly. "I don't know how I shall ever manage to live up to it."_

__

_"Just come back safe, and I care not whether you have saved a village or burned a forest."_

__

_"Legolas might care."_

__

_Elrond chuckled. "Indeed, he might. Especially if it is his forest you burned."_

~*~ 

He shook his head slightly. He would have to remember to thank his father again. Then, once the water had cooled sufficiently, though not too much, he dumped in a fair amount of the sugar, watching as it dissolved and stirring it slowly to insure it did. Once it was melted, he poured the substance into a different bowl to cool to drinking level. 

The young man glanced up at Legolas, a compulsory check, before looking back down. Then it dawned on him that something was different and he looked back up. 

Blue eyes watched him tiredly in the flickering candlelight. Then, when the prince noticed him looking at him, he smiled slightly. "Well, this seems somehow familiar, though the room has changed yet again." 

Aragorn smiled in return. "Aye, my friend. And I must insist you never do that again unless you want to send me to the Hall of Mandos, for I do not think I could endure another scare like that one." HIs intense silver eyes revealed the fear and pain his voice did not. 

"Ah," Legolas replied, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before returning his attention to the ranger. "Then I might counsel you remember the feeling the next time you feel the need to try some crazy stunt that gets you injured, and reconsider." 

The ranger's smile faltered, and tears glinted in his eyes, dancing in the flicker of the flames. "How do you feel?" he asked, one hand moving forward to rest lightly on his chest, bare inches from where the orc blade had skewered the elf. 

"Umm," the other groaned, arcing his back slightly as he stretched. "Tired. Sore. Comparatively fine." 

Aragorn mock glared at him. "You just _had _to say you were fine, didn't you?" 

"I'm still alive and on the mend," Legolas answered, his voice still soft. "That's good enough to be classified as fine, considering the alternative." 

The ranger simply nodded, closing his eyes against the tears that demanded release. He would not cry. He would not. Tears had fallen from him far too often of late, and he refused to burden Legolas with his frailties while he had other things to worry about. He opened his eyes to find two blue orbs studying him worriedly. "As soon as it cools, I have something for you to drink," he announced with a gentle smile. 

Legolas glared. "What?" 

"Sugar-water." 

"Sugar-water? I am not some baby to be coddled, Strider." 

"Of course not," the ranger agreed, picking up the gourd and testing the temperature of the liquid inside. "You are simply an elf who has lost far too much blood and needs as much help as possible in returning to normal as quickly as possible so as not to excessively worry this poor ranger, forcing him to mother you for an extended period of time." He grinned, a wicked look that promised much if the elf resisted. "Drink." 

A slight smile pulled at the fair being's lips, but he sat up, for once not arguing. Aragorn helped him into a better position for drinking, and supported him while he downed the liquid. 

When he finished, Aragorn eased him back down. Amusement flashed briefly in the man's eyes. "You might be grateful, you know. No sleeping draught and an extra reason for sugar. Many a child would enjoy that immensely." 

"But it is you who are still the child, Aragorn, not I," Legolas denied with a smile. 

The ranger gave him a rather dark look. "And you object to a brief return to childhood? Perhaps you hit your head harder than I thought." The ranger moved as if to check his head, and Legolas laughingly pushed him away. 

"Enough, Strider. I am well. Where are we?" 

"Near the Mountains of Mirkwood." 

"What? How did we get so far south?" 

"I know not, my friend, but it happened." Aragorn scrubbed a hand over his face, weariness pulling at him. It was a mystery that he could not even begin to solve. Traveling on foot, they had not even been walking quickly but traveling leisurely. Despite that, they had ended up nearly a three-day journey away from the palace. He shook his head. "Legolas, we really are something." A questioning look was the only reply. "Do you know of anyone else, besides us, who can get lost and end up farther away than is concievably possible?" 

The elf snorted, turning his attention to the ceiling, a slight smile pulling at his lips. "Oh, Strider. You think of the most rediculous things." 

"It's not ridiculous!" 

The elf prince turned to fix him with a steady stare. "Go to sleep, human. I know well how unbearable you are when you are exhausted, and I know you are. Don't you dare try and deny you are tired!" 

Aragorn closed his mouth, cutting off his denial before he had a chance to express it. He smiled slightly, realizing how very well his friend knew him. "I'm so sorry, Legolas." 

A suspicious look was directed his way. "I know those words, son of Arathorn," he said quietly. "They usual preceede you apologizing for some ill you think you are responsible for after I am injured, and if that is your intent, unless you want me to get up and tackle you, you will cease immediately." 

"But, Legolas!" He began, only to stop as the elf glared and began to press himself up, and he hastily moved forward to press the other back down, changing his story slightly. "I merely meant to express my regret that I shall not be able to keep you company this night. Long have you told me how little sleep you need, and as you have already done much sleeping, I fear you will be up all night, and I am far too tired to remain with you." 

Legolas' blue eyes twinkled with surpressed amusement. "Very well. I will do my best to manage without you for a few hours." 

Aragorn nodded and slowly eased himself down to the floor next to the elf, automatically grabbing one of the packs to place under his head as a make-shift pillow. Almost as soon as his head was down, he was fast asleep. 

Legolas watched from his prone position on the cot, a fond smile playing about the corners of his lips. Sadness touched his eyes, though, and the elf moved slowly to a sitting position. Carefully, he reached out and pulled the other pack to him, riffling through it until he found what he souhgt: a blanket. One of fine weave by the elves, versatile and light, not to mention easily packed away. 

He spread the article over the ranger's form, then lay back down. The last thing he wanted was for Aragorn to become sick because of a little carelessness and a bad situation. He moved slowly so as not to aggravate his wounds, and his gaze never strayed from the human by his side. 

If he knew the other at all (and he did), then he was sure Aragorn was blaming himself for the prince's injury. Never mind that there was nothing he could have done. Never mind that the human's actions and care had saved his life. Never mind that Legolas could take care of himself. Never mind that he had told Aragorn not to blame himself, that it was not his fault. Until Legolas was hale, the young ranger would heed none of it, greedily assuming every piece of guilt for his own, regardless of who was actually at fault. 

It was a situation that greatly frustrated the wood-elf for he hated the pain he knew Aragorn inflicted upon himself with the self-conflagration, yet he knew not what to do--if, indeed, there was anything he _could_ do. But he knew he wanted to help his friend. 

He sighed, his blue eyes taking in the steady rise and fall of the other's chest, the young man's head turned his direction, one hand across his chest and the other sprawled out towards the elf prince across the floor. His eyes were closed, and the young human looked peaceful, young even, but definately at ease. And that, more than anything else could have, allowed the elf to seek his own rest. 

One thing he knew he could do for his friend was get well. And he fully intended to do just that. The last thing he wanted was Aragorn mothering him. Again. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

"You would condemn them to death?" 

"Better them than us!" cried another. Murmurs of agreement swept through the small building claimed for the meeting. 

"But they are innocent!" 

"So are we!" exclaimed yet another. "We have done nothing to deserve the bane placed upon our heads." 

"They are ignorant!" The man who spoke had gray hair and sharp gray eyes that spoke of intelligence. His shoulders were slightly stooped with fatigue, but none could say he was frail nor weak. Being of advanced years numbering forty and seven, he was easily the eldest of the group. 

His cry forced some to avert their gaze, but not all. One man, with sharp eyes, a brownish-green in color and sand-blonde hair did not. He was young and strong, a leader to his people. "So, too, were we when this sentence was placed upon our heads. We wandered here in our ignorance, and so, too, did they. Thier fate deserves to be no less than our own." 

Silence met that pronouncement, though hesitant nods of agreement could be seen, made by people too terrified to volunteer for the sentence they were handing out, but too frightened to speak up in their conviction. Gray eyes swept across those in attendence, watching as each surrounding gaze dropped in shame. 

His jaw tightened. Long had he been overlooked, passed over as this time came again and again to smite the people of this village, his home. He was accounted both strong and wise by those younger than him, granted a power among them he was not sure how he had come by, but seemed to have lost when everything in him screamed that he needed it. 

A proud man, he disliked being waited on, disliked being coddled, disliked forcing on others tasks he would prefer to accomplish himself. He abhorred the idea of buying his life with that of another. Each time he had been passed over, been allowed to live, his family had rejoiced. Each time another had gone in his place, a friend, the loved one of another, and each time it ate at him a little more. Too many times had he seen this repeated, so he determined to end it the only way he knew how. 

"And my fate, as well. Why not spare them and send me?" he demanded, then continued before his family could object. "Many years have I watched our people dwindle, the young culled, often them also being the strong. For some reason I have been spared thus far, but it is not a pattern I wish continued. Too many friends have I seen snatched form us to wish to live to see more." 

"You cannot be sent in their stead," the blonde-haired man spoke. "You are but one; two are needed. Also, there is no guarantee you would be accepted, having been passed over so many times. If she is not pleased, she will take her wrath out on more, and perhaps demand more. You would not wish to be the cause of more suffering than we face already?" 

Brown-green eyes bore into solid gray, a test of wills that the latter already knew he would lose, for he could not risk his village, not even to spare himself more pain. His jaw tightened, and he lifted his head, refusing to look away, but the answer was visible in his eyes. 

"She comes tomorrow at dusk," the young man continued once he had secured the elder's cooperation, his gaze falling on each being in the room. "We can not let them suspect anything, and will give them this night free. We will drug them at lunch, and prepare them for the sacrifice." 

Both relieved and guilty, the people walked out and retired to their own homes. Thier walks were unsteady, sometimes moving faster, some slower, the implications of their choices weighing heavily on their mind. They always did. Always the relief and guilt were there. Always, it would remain. 

Slate gray eyes sought out the hut where the two outsiders slept, his eyes catching the slowly dying flame that would soon fade to embers, and knew that the two lives within would soon follow the same pattern. 

He looked down, grief heavy on his heart though no tears came. He had run out of tears years ago. Instead, he turned and walked further away, taking up an ax as he went. They yet needed firewood for the coming winter, and he would get no sleep this night. 


	10. Rest for the Weary

I'm back! I'm not supposed to be here, but I'm back. *g* Now, let's see. . . . 

**Deana:** And the "poor"ing has started. Lol. *shakes head* Sorry. Here is more. 

**Bill the Pony:** Well yes something evil is going to happen. What would I do if there wasn't anything evil about to happen? *looks incredulous* I'm glad for both. I get to feel all warm and fuzzy inside when I get your reviews. *g* 

**Grumpy:** What's everyone's fascination with sacrificing people to a volcano? *looks bemused* Halloween . . . I have to volunteer, but candy is good. Very good. Em, not a candle. A hint . . . Looking from the beginning (meaning False Reality), two people put it in his pack. Glad you enjoyed the pot holder. Make sure you give it back to him. Lol. *looks sheepish* Sorry, couldn't resist. I'll resist commenting on waiting. *g* It would be cruel to do that to you twice in a row. lol. Enjoy. 

**NaughtyNat:** I'm glad, too. *smiles brightly* And you were right. *scans back through memory* When did I say scrupulous? Oh. Um, clean. I think. At least, that's the general idea of the word. Kids _are_ brats (no offense to kids), but I have too much experience with me to want to repeat it. *g* And I did have fun. I love dancing. That makes two (that liked the scene with Elrond, I mean). Hehe. The "fine" thing is a point of amusement for me. I can't leave it out. I _can't_. That never mind paragraph was _fun_. lol. *looks startled* Who said I was going to make Aragorn feel better? I didn't agree to that. 

*g* Okay, now read. I cannot comment any more until you've read and reviewed and made me oh-so-happy. And I need it, me and my mom. . . . Grrrrrrr. Were I not a good daughter, not an orc, and determined not to break the law, I could consider happy ripping off her head right now. (Know I had to say it, it's not good to keep such things bottled up inside, after all. *g*) Oh, and I'm sorry in advance if the ending is a bit abrupt. I'm make it up to you later. Promise. *g* 

Now, enjoy!****

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**Chapter 10**

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**Rest for the Weary**

It was dark. That, in and of itself, was not unusual. It was the quality of the dark that halted his footsteps 

Mere moments ago he had been walking through the forests of Mirkwood, the trees just visible as darker forms against the already dark surroundings, as he carried the unmoving prince of Mirkwood in his arms. Guilt and numb fear kept him moving despite the fatigue that pulled on him, whispering to him that he needed to stop. He dared not stop, for he knew if he did, Legolas would die. 

Now, though, the forest was different, darker, a shadow lying over it that obscured even the hint of trees, overwhelming the smell of their boughs, blocking out the noises of scuttling spiders and other creatures that roamed the woods at night, causing any travelers unfortunate enough to be caught in the shadows of Mirkwood at night to become mighty familiar with paranoia. 

He could not see, which gave him pause, and he could not hear other creatures around him, which worried him, but it was the absence of his very own footsteps, which he knew were still there, to halt him. Not yet panicking, he looked around, his silver eyes not visible in the black void that seemed to surround him. 

Thinking to see if his charge could help him, since he remembered talking to him recently, he glanced down to the figure held gently in his arms, only to feel panic, heart-stopping, mind-numbing, thought-shattering panic grip him and cement his feet to the floor, unable to move if his life had depended on it. 

Legolas was gone. 

He looked around, panic building with each passing second, a thing he would have thought impossible had it not been happening to him that very moment. Nothing was around him, nothing touched his senses; Legolas was nowhere in sight. 

His breathing fast and harsh to his own ears, his heart pounding against his chest as if seeking to escape and take flight, he forced himself to stillness. Tears were threatening, as were whimpers that desired to escape his throat, releasing sounds he feared would doom him. 

There was something he was supposed to see, something he did not want to find him, and sound on his part would lead it to him quicker. His body trembled, fear for his friend warring with fear of the threat unknown which nevertheless he knew. He feared to find, but had to look. 

A whimper passed his lips without his consent and he tried to take a step forward. If he moved, he could not stay for nothing in his vision changed. His surroundings were still blank blackness without a hint of light. 

Then a clash, like the ringing of metal, sharp, echoing, shattered the silence. A shuffle of feet moving quickly, rocks clattering briefly. Harsh breath, fast, overshadowing his own, overwhelming it. Another scuffling, slithering sound; then the ringing of metal. A grunt of satisfaction or . . . pain? 

Ice fingers skittered up his spine, his body trembled. 

The sounds came to him, each known but implacable to his mind, having no meaning in his scattered thoughts; a collection of random sounds that he felt should have meaning, a meaning that sent shivers down his spine. 

Yet another clash, harsh and unyielding. Firm impact against stone, a thud. Scattering, slithering, leaves, breath, clash, clang, the sounds came faster, repeating at odd intervals, occasionally joined by a new sound or two, but then gone. 

Still he knew not what it was, and still the feeling of familiarity grew, speaking of something long known to his mind and heart but out of his grasp, lost to him even as it slithered around him. 

His eyes narrowed as his mind struggled for realization, grasping futilely at a notion that hung just out of reach, taunted with the prospect of attaining the unattainable which nevertheless seemed to be close enough if one could just reach a hair further. . . . 

Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach, forming a solid knot of lead that seemed to grow heavier and heavier, pulling him down, stealing his strength. Something bad was about to happen, something he had known, had understood was inevitable, but wished with all his heart to avoid, something his mind refused to focus on. 

The fact that his own mind refused to cooperate did not deter him, though, and he continued his attempts to grasp that elusive knowledge which danced just out of reach and yet, for all that, still seemed to desire to be caught. . . . 

Then the world spun. Or seemed to, a singularly perturbing feeling as there was no world to spin, yet did. Aragorn caught his breath as he felt he was falling, stiffening reflexively against the lack of security as fear shot through him though he knew there was nowhere to fall to, just as there was nowhere to fall _from_. 

When everything returned to normal (or at least as normal as he thought it would get), the ranger tried to look around. A completely worthless exercise in a pitch black void, admittedly, but a habit he had long since grown accustomed to just the same, and not one he was particularly anxious to break simply because he found himself currently in limbo. 

His surprise, then, was palpable when he looked around him and saw someone else occupying this abyss, two some ones. In the distance, too far for him to make out, were two figures, both tall, though one was light while the other was dark. One was lithe while the other was stocky. They seemed to be moving in their own world, unaware of their surroundings (not that there was much to be aware of, but the notion was so fully ingrained into the Dúnadan's responses that he noted it without thought of the bleakness of the surroundings they shared). 

The two figures drew him, tempting him closer. He tried to move closer, found he could not, and noticed both figures grew larger, their movements bringing them closer to him in any case. Now, he could indeed see they moved: arms, legs; a complicated dance that held deadly intent. 

As they came closer, the sounds started to click into place. One-by-one, he identified what he had heard earlier against their movements. The clash of swords as one swung for the other and was blocked. Feet moving across the ground as the combatants moved around each other trying to gain the upper hand, breath harsh from their exertions whistling in and out. A veritable cacophony of sounds, steady, constant, except when it was interrupted by a grunt of pain or a thud or some other sound which as of yet did not belong in the tapestry of movements being woven before him. 

Mesmerized, he stared, able and wanting to do nothing but watch, absorbed, his prior concern for the disappearance of his friend all but forgotten and far too distant to find any hold over him. 

Slowly, the light figure became clearer even as the dark figure grew more obscured. Golden hair flowed behind as the lithe figure moved and turned, blocking and evading every blow. The clothes this being wore also gained resolution: a moss-green overtunic covered the long sleeved light gray tunic he wore underneath, dark gray leggings ending in soft, supple, dark brown boots. He came closer--or the fighters did--and he saw the belt secured around the being's waist, the quiver strapped to his back, the knives in his hands, the gauntlets secured around his wrists. 

In his heart, Aragorn knew what his mind had yet to register, and apprehension, previously forgotten, curled up his spine, forcing him to shift. He noted the double braids holding back the fair being's golden hair, the intricate elvish designs on quiver and knives, the graceful, pointed ears of the Eldar. Abandoning his spine, the fear crept over to his heart and his lungs, squeezing so as to deny him air. 

The combatants again shifted, and he caught his first glimpse of the fair being's face. Blue eyes burned into his own for a fraction of a second, an eternity, and then they were obscured again. A dark feeling, a dread certainty settled over his heart and mind, telling him that nothing good would come of this battle, screaming at him that his friend would die, that he had to stop this before. . . . The end would be upon him soon, one way or another. 

Aragorn struggled, desperately attempting to move closer. He tried to scream, to distract his friend's opponent. . . . All to no avail. No sound issued from his mouth and his struggles only served to take him further away, though never far enough to remove sight of his friend. Despair pulled at his thoughts, unbearable pain. 

He watched Legolas stumble, saw him drop his guard, a repeat of an event fresh in his mind, mesmerized as the dark blade of his friend's opponent--horribly familiar but unknown--sunk deeply into the other's flesh. He heard the shocked gasp of pain, of denial, as icy tendrils grabbed hold of his shoul to lead towards death. 

The ranger's numb gaze traveled from the sword buried in the elf's body, to the shocked pain-filled eyes of his friend, to follow Legolas' gaze and take in the dark figure standing over him. Even now he could not make out the attacker's face, not even well enough to know his species, but a malevolent smile could be seen through the shadow that cloaked the foul being, a smirk of glee for felling that which he could never become, and extinguishing an immortal life. 

Anguish froze Aragorn, held him in place, unable to move. Then the Shadow's eyes turned on him, holding him prisoner, unable to look away, unable to gather enough strength to rise and go to his friend, offer aide or comfort if that was all he had left to give . . . unable to say good-bye. 

Darkness closed in around him. He could not move, could not breath. His vision darkened, threatening to eliminate all that was around him, life. But it did not blur completely. 

He saw Legolas collapse, saw him sink to his knees as his legs refused to hold his weight. The man's eyes were drawn to those of his friend, those eyes which would soon close forever, and his heart chilled at what he saw there. 

Betrayal. Heart-ache. Misery and a loss of hope so profound he could hardly believe it was his friend. 

Then the body sunk to the floor, unmoving, a broken lump of flesh in a sea of black, his light and spirit fled from this world, never to be seen again. Anger burned in him, pain of a kind he had never felt before. Anguished eyes turned on his friend's murderer. 

He struggled to his feet, unsure when he had fallen to his knees, fire burning in his eyes, though he knew not what he planned to do. The wraith looked at him, unperturbed by the threat in the man's eyes, a smile on his face. 

Slowly, the being reached up with one hand, moving to the hood that concealed his features. Slowly, ever so slowly, the dark cloth fell back, revealing a face Aragorn had never thought to see, a face that could only be a nightmare, and yet stood before him, solid, unwavering, in all its gruesome truth. Dark hair, intense eyes. Familiar. 

He knew who had killed Legolas. 

And he screamed. 

~*~ 

Aragorn's scream ripped through the air, jerking Legolas from a sound sleep. Pain shot through the elf as he automatically moved to aid his friend and paid no mind to his injuries, breath-stealing pain, and he collapsed back onto the cot. 

From his once again horizontal position, he turned to look at the ranger and found him half-way across the shack, back pressed against the wall, scrabbling madly to get further away, his hands scratching at the wall, heedless of the scrapes he was inflicting upon himself and the blood he was leaving behind. 

It was his eyes, though, that chilled the prince's blood. Horror-filled, they were nevertheless empty. Pain, denial, loss, all swirled in their depths. Legolas knew the ranger was aware of nothing around him, lost in whatever danced before his eyes, created by his mind. 

Silently, the fair being cursed. He knew Aragorn had been having nightmares! He had known the ranger felt guilty, had known and had done nothing. Now his friend suffered needlessly, and if Legolas did not act soon, the human would hurt himself in his delirium. 

The elf twisted and rolled off the cot, switching directions as subtly as possible to keep from pulling on his wounds. Once on the ground, he crept forward, approaching the human warily. He had no idea what distressed the man so and, having already been on the receiving end of delirious terror induced actions, had no desire to be clouted because his identity was mistaken. 

"Aragorn," he called softly from a few feet away. "Aragorn." 

The other's attempts to escape never flagged, his hands still destructively clawing behind him. "No," Aragorn whispered, voice hoarse, terrified disbelief choking the word. His feet kicked uselessly at the ground, sliding as he had no where left to go. The ranger's face contorted and his hands crept towards it, smearing blood across his skin and up into his hair in restless agitation. They crept back down, and Legolas watched as the man's fingers curled, bringing his fingernails down his skin, scratching himself, too far away to stop the human. 

He leapt forward just the same and grabbed the man's wrists, but not before gashes had been dug across the other's face. How bad, he could not tell for the blood from his fingers, but he did not like it just the same. 

"Estel," he called, switching to elvish automatically in his desire to soothe his friend. "Wake up, my friend. Do not let the shadows claim you, there is nothing to fear. Estel!" 

A groan was the only response, and Aragorn whipped his head from side to side, clipping his head firmly against the wall. His eyes rolled in his head and much of the tension left his body, but he never left consciousness, remaining stuck in his tortured dreams. 

Legolas pulled his friend away from the wall. His hand gripped the other's arm, momentarily forgetting the injuries Aragorn had sustained from the wolves. He remembered suddenly as the other cried out, body arcing against the pain before collapsing to the floor. 

"Strider!" he cried in horror, his eyes widening as he realized what he had done, unsure how bad it was. "Strider, answer me!" 

Dazed eyes gazed back at him, not fully cognizant of their surroundings. If nothing else, the pain had drawn him from the nightmare. The elf moved forward nearer his head and placed a gentle hand on his chest before leaning down to get a better look into the human's eyes. "Mellon nin, can you hear me?" 

The other's breathing was labored, his skin slicked with a layer of sweat which beaded on his forehead and upper lip. Silver eyes wandered aimless around the room without coming to focus on anything. 

"Aragorn! Please, answer me!" he insisted. "You're safe now, my friend. Come back." 

Slowly, the words seemed to penetrate whatever shadows hung over the Dúnadan, and the other's eyes finally began to focus on the figure hovering above him. Legolas waited apprehensively as he watched the change, anxious to know his friend was truly well, his blue eyes searching those that stared back at him, unreadable. 

"Legolas?" Aragorn's voice was nearly unrecognizable but the response was welcome. 

The elf breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes, mellon nin, it is I." He ran his fingers gently through the other's hair in a soothing way, but was not completely sure if it was him or the ranger he was hoping to calm most. "You are safe." 

The last did not seem to register as the other's eyes had gone distant after the affirmation of identity. Straining even his elven hearing, Legolas caught, "You are alive." 

The elf prince frowned, trailing his hand down to rest on the other's chest. "Strider? What's wrong?" 

Silver eyes refocused on him, and he was alarmed at the guilt he found there, the pain. "I'm sorry, Legolas. I'm so sorry." 

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Aragorn. I'm here. I'm alive. You did nothing wrong." 

Aragorn's hand came up to where Legolas' hand rested on his chest, wrapping tightly around the elf's wrist as a choked cry escaped the man's lips. "I'm so sorry," he continued, apparently ignoring his friend's words. "You shouldn't be here, shouldn't stay with me." A shuddering breath was drawn into spasming lungs. "I'll just get you killed. I'll kill you." 

"What are you talking about?" Legolas demanded, confusion threatening to swallow him whole and his brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of the human's words. "We're friends, Aragorn. You would never hurt me, just as I would never hurt you." 

The grip on his wrist tightened incredibly as that response only seemed to agitate the man further. "No! You don't understand! I know, I know. . . . If you stay, I will kill you. I have seen. . . ." His head turned and another choked sob worked its way past his defenses. "You endanger yourself by staying near me. Even Elladan and Elrohir think so. Ada thinks so. He said so." 

"Stop this!" Legolas exclaimed in horror. "Stop this talk! It's not true! I know it's not true! None of it, do you hear me, Estel! None of it's true! You are my friend, Estel. I know you, and I know you would never hurt anyone unless you had to. The Shadows lie. Don't listen to them, listen to me." He paused, noting the other's expression. "Please, Estel," he pleaded. "Trust me. I need you to trust me." 

For a moment he thought the human would keep arguing, instead, the fight and tension drained out of him. After a miserable nod, Legolas helped Aragorn sit up. "Do you want to talk about it?" he offered. 

Wordlessly, the young man shook his head. The elf looked at him, then moved over to the fire and added more wood, stirring the embers until it flared to vibrant life once more. He set some water on to boil, and watched as Aragorn moved up beside him, looking far older than his meager years, even for a human. And his eyes, eyes that were normally a brilliant silver, were now a dull, lifeless gray, devoid of any spark of life or happiness, his irrepressible spirit vanished to different shores. 

Legolas took a deep breath, then let it out in a slow hiss. Whatever the young man had seen in his dreams, it was eating at him terribly, leaving behind an empty husk. The elf did not like the change in his friend at all. 

He frowned slightly as he watched Aragorn stare listlessly into the fire, the flicker of the flames casting odd shadows across his face. He knew the ranger's family would never have said such things to the young man, so he could not fathom where the other could have gotten them. Yes, they jested from time to time about the amount of trouble they got in to together, but Aragorn knew they were jokes and in no way serious. 

Neither spoke as Legolas prepared the tea. Legolas knew not what to say, and Aragorn seemed to have lost himself once more in silent contemplation. The elf wanted nothing more than to draw the young man out, but he had no idea how to do it. 

Once the tea was ready, he pulled out two mugs and poured the hot liquid into them. He offered one to Aragorn, and was pleased when the other pulled himself out of his thoughts enough to take the mug and offer a small smile of thanks before returning his gaze to the fire. 

Turning his own attention to the flames, Legolas desperately searched for something to say, something to start a conversation and glean some information from his friend. He fingered the cup, agitated, then brought it to his lips and took a small sip, the hot liquid racing down his throat to pool in his stomach. Thankfully, the heat helped to soothe his nerves. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, he watched his friend take a similar sip, some of the tension leaving his posture as it, too, served to calm his nerves. The man took a deep breath, held it, then let it out slowly. Then, unexpectedly, he spoke. 

"The last time I sat in front of a fire to drink tea was with Kalya, just before our journey through the tunnels of the Misty Mountains, in a cave, of sorts. I would have liked for you to meet her. You would have liked each other, I think, but she refused to come to Rivendell, and simply disappeared. I have no idea if she is even well." His voice was low, contemplative, and his gaze never moved from the fire. 

Legolas did not mind. "Why did she leave?" 

A slight _huh_ which could have been a laugh lifted the other's shoulders, and his amusement was more detectable in his voice than on his face. "I suspect," he said, "that she was afraid of my brothers." 

The elf chuckled softly, easily acknowledging the likelihood of that observation. The twins were not exactly pleasant in matters that concerned Aragorn, and having been made well aware of the situation earlier, he thought that a fair guess. 

"Had I been in her shoes, I likely would have done the same thing," the young man mused. 

"What would she have done in yours?" the elf asked, not particularly sure why he asked. 

Gray eyes lifted to stare into his own, but the man did not answer immediately. Legolas waited with the patience of the Eldar, merely returning the stare. The ranger blinked, then finally spoke. "I think, she would not still suffer from dreams as I do." His gaze returned to the fire. 

"Do not put yourself down so, Aragorn. You are one of the strongest Men I know," Legolas stated. 

He got a quick sideways glance at that, then, "Legolas, I'm one of the _only_ Men you know." 

The elf prince smiled and looked away. "Still. It is difficult sometimes to remember that you are a Man and not an Elf, and that, I know, can be said about very few who are not Eldar." 

Aragorn sighed and looked down at the cup that was clasped in his hands. "I think your faith is misplace, my friend." 

"This is about the dream." A miserable nod. "Do you want to talk about it?" 

"I cannot, Legolas. Not now." 

The elf nodded, then cocked his head to the side. "You should sleep." 

A mirthless laugh followed this pronouncement, and the human shook his head. "I could not go back to sleep." 

"Try," Legolas insisted. "For me. Please. I need to rest, also, and I shall not be able to do it if I am worried that you are brooding." 

The ranger glanced sharply at him, resignation chasing shock and amusement across his face. "Very well." 

Legolas nodded, then rose gracefully and pulled his stuff onto the floor next to the ranger's. Confused gray eyes watched his preparations. "What are you doing?" Aragorn asked. 

"Moving my stuff." 

"You should sleep on the cot, Legolas," the ranger argued. "It's more comfortable." 

The elf prince shook his head. "I sleep in trees, Aragorn. You need not worry about my comfort, and I shall sleep considerably better if my presence manages to ease your sleep as well." He smiled gently. 

With a long-suffering sigh, Aragorn crawled over and collapsed beside the elf, turning so he lay on his right side, his eyes watching the shadows cast on the wall by the fire, hypnotizing him. Legolas smiled slightly, then eased himself down near him and scooted back so their shoulders touched, a reminder that the other was near. The elf was surprised when, almost immediately, the other relaxed and fell asleep. 

Legolas soon followed, his eyes half-lidded in elven sleep. 


	11. Always a Price

*blanches* It's time to post again already?! Incredible. Needless to say, I forgot again. So far that hasn't proven detrimental to actually getting it out on time. Lucky you, as I wasn't supposed to be home to post it. I had community service that was cancelled due to, uh, extenuating circumstances, and so am here to pass along this . . . Well, I wouldn't call it art, it isn't good enough to be art. So, let's try, enjoyable tidbit. Lol. Now, onto my reviewer responses for my wonderful reviewers. I love you guys. 

**Grumpy:** *claps* You got it. That was obviously far too simple a hint. I shall have to work on that. Hehe, aren't nightmares so wonderful? Lol. I doubt Aragorn would agree. Hersheys bars after a nightmare? I hadn't thought of that, but then I guess that's cause there are never any hersheys bars in my house. *pouts distractedly* Mm, I don't know what's in the tea. Ask Elrond. If he'll tell you. 

**Deana:** You don't expect to find out soon, do you? *frowns slighty* Where would be the fun in that. *smiles* Wow. I like wow. Can you tell I liked that particular nightmare? Thus the fact that it keeps repeating. *grins evily* Gee, wonder what it could mean, if it means anything at all. 

**Bill the Pony:** I think you have a popular name. *shakes head* Thank you, thank you. A dream about Aragorn's nightmares? *looks shocked* Do tell. I wanna hear this. *g* lol. The last one wasn't a cliffie, was it? *bites lip thoughtfully* Em, I think one's a cliffie, though, if not on the same order as some other, more evil cliffies written by a certain someones I won't name. *g* I don't think it's hard to guess who. Lol. But that's a different story. 

Now onto this one.Well, in a minute. I have news. My other story, the sequel to this one, is taking forever to write. It doesn't help that I somehow got started writing another one. Completely different, requiring a different mind-set. One muse turns of the other, and when they fight, I can't write either one. Hehe. But the first five chapters are rather good, even if I do say so myself. *g* 

Now I'm really done. Your next chapter...awaits..... *sweeps out arm and steps out of the way*****

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**Chapter 11**

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**Always a Price**

Aragorn opened sleep blurred eyes and was gifted with the sight of blue eyes, blonde hair, and pointed ears less than two feet away, staring at him curiously. He blinked, thinkg maybe he was hallucinating and that when he opened his eyes again, the elf would be gone. 

He was not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved, then, when he opened his eyes to find himself still looking into the face of Legolas. The young man blinked once again, just for good measure, and wondered why he hurt so bad. 

"Good morning," the elf greeted brightly, oblivious to the man's discomfort as he reached out to smear something shockingly cold against his cheek; he jerked back to escape but it followed him. 

He glared, but decided that took too much effort. "Is it morning?" he asked. 

Legolas glanced away, out a window in the side of the hut which had been opened, before smiling back down at him. "Actually it is a bit after noon," he offered. "Which means we both missed breakfast." 

"We?" Aragorn demanded, interrupting before the elf could continue his obscenely cheerful diatribe. However bad his friend had been doing yesterday, he was obviously faring quite well today. 

Faint embarrassment crossed the other's expression, gone quickly, but not before Aragorn noted it. "Ah, well, I seem to have over-slept the dawn, as well," he admitted. 

Despite everything, the ranger chuckled, turning his head away into the pack which had served as his pillow before pushing himself up into a sitting position. Now that he could see better, he noticed a small bowl cradled in the efl's hand which contained a thick white cream. He frowned. "What's that?" 

"Cream," the other answered. 

Aragorn glared at him warily. "For what?" 

"Your face." 

Aragorn blinked slowly, trying to comprehend that last, which made no sense. Why did he need gunk on his face? If this was a joke, he would have to find an appropriate retaliation quickly. He frowned. 

Apparently, Legolas saw what was coming, foresight or no, for he immediately spoke up. "You scratched your face last night," he explained. "I figured they might start burning or become infected or something if they went untended." 

His scowl shifted slightly as his tone became incredulous. "You're fussing over what is--for once--truly 'just a scratch'?" 

A smile twitched at the corners of Legolas' lips. That actually had not occured to him, but now that it had, he was having a difficult time keeping a straigth face. 

After a moment, Aragorn, too, began to smile; he shook his head ruefully. "And you compain _I_ mother _you_." 

"You do!" Legolas protested indignantly. 

Both eyebrows raised, the ranger looked at the elf expectantly. "And what, pray tell, do you do to me?" 

That smile threatened again, and this time, the elf prince could not hold it back. "I do not mother you," he denied, the amusement in his words matching the smile on his face. 

"No?" Aragorn asked. "Then I suppose your friends have always put ointment on your scratches?" 

The elf snorted. "Strider. I am an elf." 

"So your father did it instead?" 

Legolas laughed, dropping the bowl as he stood. "You're impossible!" 

The young man smiled as he watched the elf move across the room, then frowned as he tried to turn his mind back to last night's events and found nothing. He had no idea how he had managed to scratch his face. Legolas turned his attention to the tray of food that had been set down just to the right of the door. 

Uneasily, Aragorn found his memories of the night's events sketchy, at best. Vague images floated through his mind without any particular order or care, succeeding in doing naught but confusing him further. None of his memories made sense. The last clear memory he had was of putting Legolas to sleep, and then lying down beside him on the floor. His frown deepened as apprehension curled through him, telling him to let it go; he could not. 

"Legolas?" The elf turned and looked at him, apparently unconcerned as he lifted the tray with juice, fruits, and bread piled on it, and brought it over. "What happened last night?" 

The elf froze. Had he not been watching, he would have missed the breif tension of his friend's frame, would not have seen the breif hesitation that preceeded the elf kneeling not far away from him and depositing the tray between them. But he was, and he did. Apprehension jumped the last step to fear. 

The elf shook his head slightly. "Nothing overly important, mellon nin. Merely a nightmare." But Legolas did not meet Aragorn's eyes as he spoke, and the reassuring words did naught to ease his fears. 

Instead of voicing his incredulity, however, he merely nodded and let it go, hoping he would be able to reconstruct the events in his mind without help from the elf; he had a feeling Legolas did not want him to remember, and so would tell him nothing. 

Without conscious thought, he accepted the peach the prince handed to him, and mechanically started eating. 

Almost of its own volition, his hand drifted up to his face, contacting the stripes he could not see and was only just beginning to feel, multiple lines down his cheeks that were more or less evenly spaced. He could see nothing in the room that could have been responsible for such marks, and the chances of doing the same thing repeatedly with even spacing was slim to none. 

He spread his fingers to measure the distance and trace their paths, his fingertips fitting perfectly into the tender grooves. He froze with the realization that _he_ had inflicted this upon himself. With that knowledge came the rest of the momories, the truth Legolas had sought to conceal from him. HIs jaw tightened in pained frustration. 

Anguish-illed eyes turned to the elf who sat calmly, picking at a loaf of bread. His eyes fell on the bandages that wrapped the other's chest, guilt flowing through him with the knowledge that it was his fault; if only he had been faster. Worse knowledge pounded through his mind, threatening his destruction. He swallowed painfully, tears pricking his throat. It was not safe for him to stay with his friend. He would have to leave. 

The front tarp was pushed aside, a lazy flopping sound signaling its reclosure; both the elf and ranger looked up, one expectant, the other pained. 

Before them stood a young woman of maybe eighteen summers with vibrant golden curls that cascaded down her back to her waist and pale green eyes framed by dark lashes. She was lean and her dress was ragged, old and worn from work with evidence of many patches and fixed stitching. Her feet were bare despite the cool air that heralded the approaching winter. 

She curtsied. "The people of Meertown request your attendance at our annual festival, always held this time of year at the full moon. May I tell the Feast Planner to expect your presence?" 

The words failed to truly register in his mind, but the inquiring look Legolas sent him was too familiar to be missed. He nodded without understanding what if was he was agreeing to, but had not the energy to care. 

Legolas turned back to the girl standing nervously before them. He smiled. "We would be honored to attend," he assured her. 

An answering smile lit her face, slightly relaxing her posture. "Someone will be by in about three hours to lead you to the event," she returned, curtsying again, a blush coloring her cheeks before she hastily left the small building. 

The elf chuckled, then turned to look at Aragorn again. The young man's face was pale, his eyes distant and uncomprehending, as if they were more focused on the past than the present, thier normal silver color once again dulled to a dark gray. His smile slipped, worry replacing amusement at the young one's embarassment. 

"Aragorn?" he called softly, testing the other's attention. Aragorn did not even twitch. A frown creased his brow, and he turned his head to trace the other's line-of-sight, hoping to discover what had his friend so enraptured. 

His gaze fell on the blood-stained wall, and the elf's heart sank. It seemed he had forgotten to clean it. When he had fallen asleep next to the human after the nightmare, he had forgotten to do a lot of things, including treating the man's face and hands. 

He resisted the urge to curse and moved to kneel next to him, extending his hand to rest on the young Dúnadna's shoulder. His heart ached when Aragorn cringed away from his touch. Reluctantly, he dropped his hand. "Please don't push me away, Aragorn," he pleaded. "I want to help." 

Slowly, looking almost as though he was fighting something, Aragorn turned his head. Dark gray eyes looked at him, and the elf's breath caught. The pain and despair he saw hurt more than his injury had. Worse, it looked to him as if the young ranger had given up. Desperately, he searched his friend's face, hoping to find something else, hoping what he thought was false. 

Aragorn licked dry lips. "Legolas," he breathed, his voice cracking. "You have to leave me. You were right, my friend; you were right." The human looked away, tears shimmering just beyond his dark lashes. 

Legolas felt the other pull away, physically and mentally, seeming to put up a barrier between them that could not be seen, a wall that he did not know how to scale. The urge to reach out and pull Aragorn back, shake him until he came back to his senses beat strongly against the elf's resolve to honor Aragorn's desires. He swallowed thickly. "Right about what?" the elf prince asked, suddenly sure he was not going to like the answer he was given. 

"About me, us. You were right. You would be much better off without me. I'm just going to get you killed if you stay with me." 

"Don't say that, Strider," he demanded. "Don't say that. You know it's not true." 

"Do I?" the ranger asked, turning to look back at his friend. "You had a perfectly normal life before I came along. You said so. No near-death poisonings at the hands of Orcs. No--" 

"Strider!" he exclaimed, interrupting the ranger, whose eyes suddenly looked straight at him, instead of just past him. "None of that is your fault. It's the Orcs', it's Hebrilith's, it's every other person we've somehow managed to get on the wrong side of. But it is. Not. Yours." 

The elf watched as something flickered in his friend's eyes--flickered, and was overwhelmed. The same dark eyes stared lifelessly back at him, unmoved. "Not yet," Aragorn said. "Not yet have I killed you, but it will happen. I have seen it." 

Legolas sat back, surprised by the vehemnce, the absolute conviction of the sentiment. _Not yet have I killed you, but it will happen._ He watched, frozen to the spot, and the ranger stood and crossed to the cot, watched as a shadow seemed to fall over his friend's usually vibrant features. 

What was wrong with him? He knew something had to be, but he could think of nothing that would perpetrate such a drastic change in the ranger. 

_Drastic?_ A little voice in the back of his mind scoffed. _"There's nothing drastic about this. Aragorn has always blamed himself for the least little thing that goes wrong. The only thing different from then to now, is that he will no longer listen to reason, nor to comfort. He has shut you out. He would not listen to Elladan and Elrohir, nor Elrond, and now he will not listen to you. Something drastic will happen. But it has not occurred yet._

He feared what that drastic change would be, then, if it had yet to strike. And the ranger's behavior was certainly changed. He had always been more or less willing to listen to Legolas. At least so far as it did not endanger the prince. 

Legolas blinked. What did the ranger fear would happen if he stayed in the other's company? That they would be attacked? Enough had happened over the years that the young man had to realize their parting ways would not ensure safety for the other. Surely that was not it. 

Then the wording sank in: No yet have _I_ killed you. I killed you. Horror shot through the elf's body, followed quickly by adamant denial. Aragorn would never hurt him! The ranger would die before hurting his friends, any of them, and especially his best friend. Surely he did not believe he would actually do anything to harm the elf prince. 

Even as he denied the idea with all he was worth, the truth of it sunk into him. Aragorn feared he would hurt--even kill--Legolas, and so he would do his best to ensure that never happened. He would force them to seperate before he would allow harm to befall his best friend; even if it killed him to do so. 

Looking at the dejected husk the normally vibrant young man had become, he found it hard to believe humans could not die of a broken heart, for surely that was what was happening to the young Dúnadan he had befriended so many long human years ago. Aragorn could not just give up their friendship any more than he could. He just had to figure out how to make the young man see that. 

He sighed. And Lord Elrond and the twins had thought he could help Aragorn. Somehow, he felt he had made everything worse. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Hours later, exactly when the young woman had said, another duo appeared, this time in the form of two elderly women also dressed in rags and bearing two towels. 

The one who appeared to be the elder stepped forward and curtsied. "Master Elf, Master Human: We have been asked to prepare you for this evening's feast. If you would please follow us?" 

"As you wish," Legolas agreed, standing easily from his position on the floor. As silent as he had been all afternoon, Aragorn followed. The idea of a feast, though, did not seem to sit well with him. 

They were lead out to a nearby stream roughly a mile from the village. The women ordered them to strip and scrub, disappearing with their clothes, dirty and blood stained, then reappearing minutes later, just as the elf and ranger finished bathing, with new clothes. 

It seemed rather odd to Legolas why the villagers, who wore ragged clothing, would offer them fresh-made clothes when they wore old but obviously had no need to. He told her so. 

She smiled. "You are guests, and we would wish you comfortable while you are with us." 

"Nay, Lady," Legolas denied with a shake of his head. "We would be more comfortable in similar dress to your own than in finely made clothing." 

"Ah, but we insist," the woman replied firmly, then her tone turned slightly teasing. "It would do the ladies well to see two young princes at their table instead of merely the commoners they are used to." 

The elf accepted her arguement with a rueful incline of her head. Apparently satisfied, the two women left to see to other things while their charges dressed themselves. The "young princes" comment made him chuckle, for he had an idea the women had no idea how true her words had been. 

He glanced over to Aragorn. The young man was yet in the water, waist deep, staring off into the distance as if it was a window to the past, or perhaps the future. It seemed likely to the elf that the ranger did not find what he sought, for Aragorn turned and began slowly making his way up out of the water, his shoulders slumped, his steps weary. 

Watchful, the elf rubbed a towel quickly over his form, watching as Aragorn collapsed to the floor, his legs braced before him, and ducked his head between his knees. Legolas finished drying off and pulled his trousers on, nimbly securing them at the waist; he shifted uncomfortably against the foreign fall of the garment before moving over to his friend. 

He rested his left hand against the other's back and knelt by his side, unconscioiusly leaning forward to try and catch a glimpse of Aragorn's eyes. "Strider? Please, mellon nin, do not do this. Our time together is already too short to be shortened needlessly." 

The man before him remained unmoved. He frowned, and looked up quickly, half-wishing it were night so he could take strength from the stars, silently begging Illúvitar to help him get through his friend's thick skull to make him see reason. He moved closer, then paused, and let out a sigh which seemed to deflate him. 

Without another word, he quietly began drying the man, who moved whenever he was instructed but instigated no movement of his own. Once finished with that, Legolas helped the ranger into his own trousers, too worried to find amusing how cooperative the Dúnadan was in this state. When he was done, Aragorn sank once again to his previous position. 

The elf prince walked over and picked up his own shirt, slipping it over his head, before pulling on his own soft shoes, which had been left as they were still in excellent shape. Slowly, he made his way back over to the human's side, running words over in his mind in an effort to come up with something to say to which his friend would respond. 

He sat beside the man, facing him. "Strider. Tell me what you saw last night in your dream. Tell me what you saw that troubles you so." He waited. Just as he was about to despair of ever getting a response, Aragorn spoke. 

The man's voice was quiet, and difficult to understand. "Everything was gone," he said. "The world was black, and there was nothing around. I was alone. Then, in the distance, there appeared two figures. They were fighting. Slowly, I could see clearer, and discovered one to be you, Legolas." Aragorn paused and cleared his throat, though his words were no clearer than before when next he spoke. "You stumbled, and the next blow that fell struck you, killed you." 

Here, the other stopped. Legolas frowned. "Who was the other?" 

The ranger rocked back and forth, like a child whose emotional distress was so great it could not be contained in a body so small. His hands were clasped about his knees, his face pressed firmly into his kneecaps, almost as though he was seeking to crush what he knew, destroy it. Finally, he stilled. His voice, when next he spoke, was so low Legolas almost missed it and had to lean forward to catch. 

"Me." 

Whatever response Legolas might have made to that startling, yet not unsuspected, pronouncement was cut off with the arrival of their hosts. 

The two women bustled back in, their voices cutting through the air, making the elf start guiltily and look up. They bore more supplies with them, and the two friends were set upon with combs, their hair set firmly in order, and their faces were powdered. Something sweet was sprayed on them, among a dozen other things that neither could follow. 

At times, Legolas could have sworn there were more than two of them, so much did they do and so quickly did they move, first in one place and then another. Six could have accomplished the same no faster than they. 

When the activity finally stopped, the elf prince had to blink at the abrupt change. He glanced at the ranger and was relieved to see the young man looked just as perturbed as he felt, and not only because the young one had seemed uneffected by all that had transpired in the last several hours; it was not good for elven pride to be unsettled by two mere women dressing him. 

Then, their appearance finally in order, the elf and man were lead to another area of the village, this one closer to the mountains and far away from the trees. When they arrived, the sun had just touched the tops of the trees in its descent until the next morning. 

Tables were set up with benches running down their length. Plates heaped with food were spread at intervals, and goblets were set before each place. Dozens of men, women, and children moved happily among the tables, talking about the harvest and the coming season. 

Everything seemed joyful enough, yet the prince could not escape the feeling that something was off. He glanced around, then dismmissed the feeling as worry for his friend as nothing seemed out of place. 

A group of widely smiling men waved them over, and both man and elf aceeded by slowly making their way over, glancing among those gathered for the event. Women seemed to be the most prominent among the group, all wearing well worn dresses that were scrupulously cleaned before-hand. The men wore garments similar to those the visitors had been given, but were obviously used instead of new. The children who ran, and dodged around all present seemed to wear outfits handed down through a family line. They laughed and played, occassionally glancing up at the sinking sun. 

He smiled gently at one of the young ones, then glanced curiously back at Aragorn. He looked pale and drawn, but the activity and antics of the children seemed to revive him, and he managed a couple small smiles for the children, getting shy smiles in return. 

Then they arrived at the table, and the three men who stood there bowed, the center-most and leader spoke quietly, his voice smooth and low. "Welcome, strangers. You are fortunate to have come at this time of year and are thus able to partake of our feast. It is the best we have to offer through all the year." 

Surprising Legolas, Aragorn spoke up before he could fashion a response. "Your hospitality is greatly appreciated, but you have already done more than enough. We would not wish you inconvienenced." 

"It is no inconvience, good sir--" 

"Strider." 

The man smiled. "Strider. We are glad of your company. So few beings come through here, and we rarely travel, it is truly a rare gift to meet new people." 

One next to him smiled as well. "Indeed. So unused to it are we, that we have forgotten to introduce ourselves. I am Kyrol. The good fellow here is Niriss, and that one on the end is Briit." 

The young man nodded. "You were the ones who found us. I thank you for allowing us shelter. I fear my friend, Legolas, would not have made it through the night without aid." As he spoke, he gestured slightly to the elf by his side. 

"Truly, we are glad to be of service. Now, please. Make yourselves comfortable, and try and enjoy the festivities." 

He bowed with a smile and a quiet thank you, Legolas calmly mirroring the gesture, content to let his friend resume the role he generally claimed when dealing with races other than elves. The fair being took this as a sign that Aragorn was recovering, and prayed it was not a temporary reprieve. 

Then his attention was called away by the joyful shrieking of children as they played at their games. Horseshoes were thrown at a stick that was placed in the ground. Blindfolds were put on and they chased each other in a clearing, adults assuring they ran into no trees. Occassionally they would collide and fall laughing to the floor. 

A couple hours passed this way, with the children enjoying various games while the sun finished its trip down into the trees. Then great fires were lit at intervals around the clearing and the group took their seats around the table. Aragorn and Legolas were sat side-by-side on one side of one of the tables along with another group of men, and on the other side sat a group of young women. 

Quickly and efficiently, plates were placed before them, Aragorn and Legolas always served first of whatever was passed around. Their plates were full and a red berry wine was placed before them. 

Everyone began eating, and Legolas turned to his meal, hungrier than he would have thought, pausing occassionally to ask questions or answer questions asked of him. The young ladies, while nervous and obviously hesitant, were friendly enough. He was half-way through his meal before he even realized something was wrong. 

"Do you not like it?" a quiet voice asked, and he looked up quickly to see a lady who had introduced herself as Alyvia focused worriedly on Aragorn. 

The young ranger had looked up, as well, his fork still hovering about the plate where it had been moments before. His plate, Legolas saw, was still mostly full. "No, it is very good." 

Legolas frowned slightly. "You need to eat, Strider. Are you ill?" He vaguely remembered that humans often did not feel like eating when they got sick. 

"No. No, I am well. I, It . . . is just a little overwhelming," he said, stumbling slightly over his words. 

Legolas frowned, but Alyvia smiled, accepting the comment without question. "I'm a little overwhelmed, too," she admitted with a smile, blushing a bit at the admission. "It's not often we get such, mm, handsome," her blush deepened, "guests." Her gaze fell to the table, and she immediately turned her attention back to the food. 

Meri, the girl to her right, spoke up to take attention away from her friend. "Maybe you should try the veal. My mother makes marvelous veal. If you just try, surely you will feel better." 

Aragorn offered a weak but genuine smile, and nodded. Meri blushed and went back to her own meal, downing a generous portion of her wine. The girls beside her giggled happily. 

Legolas chuckled, earning a half-hearted glare from his friend. Growing up around elves, who were considered the fairest beings on Middle-earth, Aragorn lacked an appreciation for his dashing appearance. He had won many a woman's heart with his good looks, charming smile, and considerate words. 

Glancing at his friend, assured he was eating, Legolas, too, returned to his meal. Only this time, he watched that Aragornw was truly eating. The young man needed to eat; he had not regained the weight he had lost after he had been poisoned. 

When most were finished, and those that were not nearly finished, one of the goblets was picked up by Niriss and tapped repeatedly with his fork, sending a ringing out over the company to gain everyone's attention. Both elf and man looked towards him. 

"Ladies, Gentlemen, and Guests of all ages!" he cried, standing on one of the benches to be easily seen by all. "I welcome you to the five hundredth annual Full Moon Festival!" Wild cheers sounded from all sides, and the two guests clapped politely. When it quieted down, Niriss continued. "And now, we have come to the most important aspect of the feast: the toast!" Most laughed. 

Legolas started as a fresh goblet was placed before him, filled with wine. A similar goblet was placed before Aragorn and everyone else at the table as ten maidens walked down the the rows, distributing the goblets for toasting. 

As soon as everyone had their wine, Niriss included, the young man stood, raising his goblet into the air. "As we honor tradition this night, we take the time to be grateful for each family member still with us, for each blessing we have had, for new friends we have made and old friends we have kept. This night is a celebration of life, and an expectation for the future. So here: to life, health, and happiness. May we each find tomorrow, more happiness than we found today." 

A couple "hear, hear"'s and cheers could be heard. Then everyone tipped back the goblets and downed the contents in a single swallow. Both Aragorn and Legolas followed suit, the fine wine sending pleasant heat down their throats to pool in their bellies. 

The elf looked around as he set his goblet down before him. He blinked a couple of times as his vision blurred, then turned his attention to Niriss. He was confused to see the young man looking at him coolly, pity and indifference evident in his brown-green eyes. 

Legolas had just enough time to wonder at the expression before the world around him grayed out. He just made out the form of Strider dropping to the ground next to him, and then the blackness rushed up to welcome him into its grasp. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Niriss watched the elf and ranger fall, then turned to his fellow villagers. "Bind them and finish preparing them for our lady. She will be here by midnight." 

A group of men and women coallasced around the two still figures, moving quickly to transfer them to a different location. Within moments, they were spirited away, gone where none ever returned from. 

On the edge of the clearing, sad gray eyes watched everything. 


	12. Inner Turmoil, Outer Pain

Hi all! Sorry this is late! I truly, honestly forgot. The days slipped past. I slept, was so tired. I was backlogged on sleep deprivation for more than a month and finally could not function anymore. Anyway, I apologize for missing and mispelled words. I can tell you right here and now they're there. I could go through and fool with the chapter like I meant to do, and hopefully make some of the scenes less superficial, but I delude myself into thinking you would rather have the chapter now and ignore little mistakes than let me take the hours it would take to do that. *g* Now. 

**Deana:** *stares blankly while trying to think of a way to respond to that* Uh. Right. *g* Thanks for reviewing. 

**Bill the Pony:** You found cliffie medication? I feel so much better now. Would you be mad if I said I think the cliffies get worse? Now wait! *holds out hand in placating gesture* I said "think." The truth is, I can't remember. Mm, unless I am mistaken, and I have no way to judge if I am, I think I have seen maybe three other people with the name "Bill the Pony." That's what I mean. *g* 

**Gumpy:** lol. A pot over a fire? Where do you come up with these? *smiles fondly* Well, rest assured they will not end up there. Hehe. *looks grave* I'm afraid Dr. Phil could not help him. The rock would likely get through more, though you might have to hit him really hard. He has a hard head, you know. 

**NaughtyNat:** Glad you're enjoying, and I await your proper review. *briefly looks back over review* *blinks* *blinks again* lol. Sorry. I go through weird spells, but I'm not crazy. I'm not. 

Let's see now. I don't think this chapter is up to my usual standards, but I hope it will be entertaining nonetheless, and I plan on proofreading the next chapter now so it's done when I have to post again. 

If you review fast, I'll post it on schedule. Meaning in two days. If not, I'm afraid you'll have to wait the customary three days. *g* I'm not fond of blackmailing, really. It's up to you. *smiles* See, I've given you the opportunity to prosper. Lol. Okay, I'll just post this and go, now.****

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**Chapter 12**

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**Inner Turmoil, Outer Pain**

Distantly, Aragorn wondered why he even bothered to wake up. Since so many people seemed to want him to sleep so much, surely the least he could do was oblige their desires and sleep forever. He vaguely wondered why no one had ever thought of that before. Then he wondered why _he_ would think of that when _he_ was the one who never liked being drugged to sleep in the first place. 

He frowned. Drugged to sleep? He had been drugged? 

Slowly, ever so slowly (to his mind), the memories came back: the nightmare, the numerous talks after, the depression, the feast, the toast . . . and then nothing. The wine had definitely been drugged. He spared a brief moment of irritation for people who thought they knew what he needed better than he did and took it upon themselves to remedy the situation by putting him to sleep. 

Then, he woke up. Or rather, he became aware, truly aware, of his situation for the first time since consciousness returned, and was rather surprised to find he was sitting. That did not sound like Legolas at all. Exploratory movement (as in trying to shift his hands up to his head to combat the headache he had become aware of once he woke) failed miserably. His arms were bound, as were his feet. 

Bleary eyes opened, flickering quickly in anticipation of blinding pokers being stuck in them the moment the lids moved aside. Finding that not as painful as he had expected, he tried again, opening them a bit slower this time, for a bit longer. Than again, and again, until he managed to pry his eyes open. 

At first he thought he was in the dark. Then he realized he could see, which required light. After a moment, in which he tried to determine how he could see, he concluded the light was outside his--where he was--and seeping in, creating the faint glow that vaguely illuminated the room. 

By that light, Aragorn could make out stone walls surrounding him--at least as far as he could see from his position. Letting his head fall back against the back of his chair again, the ranger closed his eyes. _It's another cave_, he thought bleakly. _Under another mountain_. 

Had he not had an odd feeling of being watched, and that whoever held him would like it, he would have rapped his head against the back of the chair repeatedly and with vigor. Still, he was hard pressed to release the coiled frustration inside him. Why could he not keep out of trouble? 

A new thought, however, overpowered the first. Where was Legolas? Obviously, this was not the elf's doing. No matter how frustrated his friend got with him, he would never drug him, tie him to a chair, _and_ leave him in a cave. The first two perhaps, but the cave was out; and that meant someone else had done this. 

That also meant Legolas could be in trouble, and likely was, especially since he did not think he had been roped into this for tea. His lips tightened._ What is it with me?_ he thought furiously. _Why can I never go somewhere without either me or a friend ending up in more trouble than anyone should have to deal with?_

He leaned forward, then slumped back as the ropes gave not at all. His head flopped back, and he cringed, the thud of impact ringing through his head like thunder, a convincing analogy as he had seen the flash of light just seconds before. 

A deep breath later, he convinced himself he could open his eyes. Footsteps, quiet but unmistakable, echoed through the cavern. He tensed, caught between dread at what the footsteps meant and satisfaction that he was about to discover who held him captive. 

He was momentarily flummoxed when a woman walked into view: curly dark hair flowing down to her waist and swinging slowly from side-to-side with her smooth gait. Her green-gray eyes glowed brightly against her marble skin. She looked to be young, no more than thirty winters, and yet she seemed far older. 

Something brushed against his senses, and he squirmed slightly, his gaze riveted on her slender form. A flowing golden dress graced her body, reaching down to her feet, and she seemed to float, her movements so graceful as to be almost elvish, and yet she was not an elf, not even--as had seemed with Kalya--of elven descent. She was mortal, he was sure. 

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice steady. Something was gained, apparently, by being constantly threatened with death: you learned to keep fear out of your voice. There were other things he would wish for. 

A smile, almost predatory, as she stepped closer. "You are quite handsome," she demurred, her voice a low purr. "And a Ranger, too. A pity I shall not keep you long, though perhaps you will stay with me longer than the others." 

He blinked, perplexed. "Who are you?" he tried again. 

Her gaze flickered over him before she continued on behind him. "You need not know," she said, her voice floating to him from somewhere past his sight, no matter how he turned to look. A few clinks bounced to his hearing. "But I shall tell you. It is a name you will grow to hate, nearly as much as I hate you." 

"Hate me? How can you hate me? You do not know me." 

She walked back around him, anger--old anger--flashing in her eyes. "Oh, but I do," she hissed. "I know your kind very well. You rush into danger, heedless of what it costs. You leave your loved ones behind to rot, to worry. You revel in their pain." He shook his head, but she gave him no chance to speak. "You are every bit the same as every other Man that has ever walked Middle-earth. You all deserve to suffer for what you have done." Her hard gaze flashed to him. "Do not deny it. You fight your wars. You leave women, children, behind. Family, friends. They mean nothing to you. You die, and you care not." 

The tension seemed to leave her, and she smiled. After the anger he had seen, it held no comfort, though it might have at any other time. "But that is why you are here. All Men shall never pay for the folly they perpetrate, but you shall. Your life shall buy the rest of your kindred theirs; yours and your friend." She edged closer and ran a delicate hand down the side of his face, and he shivered at the touch, which felt like ice. "Yes. You two will do quite nicely." 

She pulled away and circled around behind him once more. He could not see what she was doing, but he was fairly positive he would not enjoy it in the least. The slight sounds he could hear did nothing for his peace of mind. 

Finally, there was a scraping across the floor, the sound of something being dragged, and after a few moments, the woman came back into view. A chair pulled by one hand, and rope in the other, she pause before him. "I am Kaialian, and you will know me before the end." 

That said, she released the chair and walked closer to him, dropping a length of rope across the seat before unfurling the next. Then she grasped his hand, turning it palm up before he could even think to resist. The rope was wound around it, holding it in place. He frowned slightly, but tried to resist when she tried for the other. 

As often happens, trying can fail, and he did. Kaialian was surprisingly strong, and his hand was wrenched into the position she wanted, eliciting a wince from Aragorn as she secured his hand, twisted uncomfortably in the bonds. 

"As I was left to suffer slowly, so shall you be, Ranger. I am in no hurry, unfortunately for you. See, I have all the time in the world, all the ages. You are but a flicker in that time. But you will be an _entertaining_ flicker." 

He watched with wary eyes as she pulled out a six inch long dagger that was, to his trained eye, of elvish make. Idly, he wondered where she had found the weapon. It flashed dully as it was lowered towards his wrist. She cut lightly across his palm between two coils of rope, more tickling than hurting, but he could feel moisture swell. 

She smiled, then pulled her chair closer and sat down. "I wonder how long you will last." 

Then she lowered the knife, and beginning at the base of his palm, she cut, deep enough to break the skin, shallow enough not to hit the artery. Having expected it, the pain that burned did little more than make him tense. A centimeter higher, she cut again. Another centimeter higher, her blade sliced his skin once more. Over and over, precise and evenly spaced. The pain built and he had to clench his teeth against the sounds of pain that desperately wanted release. 

Blood trickled down his arm, coating it in red before dripping onto the floor. When she reached his elbow, she stopped. He watched with pain glazed eyes as she shifted to the other side and began the process once again, beginning with the tickle-cut across his palm. 

A feral smile lit her face, and she started working her way up his arm once more. Trembling slightly against the pain, his breathing ragged, he clenched his eyes shut and attempted desperately to shut out the pain. Each cut hurt little, on its own, but together, they were beginning to drive him mad. 

Vaguely, he wondered how long it would take before he finally lost enough blood to pass out. He glanced at his lower arm, taking in the blood. Not nearly little enough. He gasped in startled pain as the crease at his elbow was sliced through, half choking when his saliva was sucked down the wrong pipe at the sudden intake. 

He coughed helplessly, the jerking motions pulling his arms and rubbing the ropes against the cuts that were near them. Burning pain, enough to torment, but not enough to endanger, flowed through him. 

After several minutes, he realized she had stopped. He looked at her dully. Her eyes had a mad light in them and she was watching his arm in apparent fascination. Eventually, she noticed his gaze, and looked up at him. 

Her lips twisted. "You bleed prettily," she purred, running her fingernails lightly down his arm and sending shuddering pain down the length of his appendage. A choked gasp escaped his lips. A pink tongue flickered out to lick daintily at her fingers, and she smiled in contentment. "Mm. Your blood is sweet. No worries, my sweet, you will not bleed to death yet. We will play together again later. Now, I want to visit my Elf. It's been so long since I've had one of them." The dagger was looked at idly, reminiscent fascination crossing her face. 

She pouted at him. "Don't worry. I won't stay away long." 

Her footsteps, soft with her light tread, vanished into the distance, echoing faintly off the walls. Then she was gone. 

Had she been going anywhere else, he would have felt relieved. As it was, only a different kind of dread festered in his stomach, leaving it a writhing mess. He stared after her, praying for her return. Had bile not been rising in the back of his throat, he would have found a bit of dark humor in the fact that moments before, he had been wishing for her departure, only to now be wishing for her return. 

Instead, he waited with baited breath for the sounds of her returning footsteps, both dreading and hoping for her swift return. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Legolas woke swiftly, consciousness flaring as he realized he was trapped. Alert eyes scanned his surroundings, searching his surroundings for whoever was responsible for his captivity. 

Finding no one, he began pulling at his bonds, testing their hold. To his disgust, they held, budging not even an inch. He glared, then slumped back down. Annoyance at himself for not seeing this treachery combined with his agitation at not managing to free himself, to form a dark well of frustration. 

Fiery eyes once again looked around him, this time with the less immediate goal of discovering what was around him. His spine stiffened as he recognized, from the universal conformity of them, that he was, once again, inside a cave. 

The elf groaned. He should have known. 

It never failed. Every time he and Strider were together and near caves, they somehow always ended up inside them, and usually trapped, whether by design or accident. 

Blue eyes traced around him, looking for what was responsible for the faint glow that was the room's lone illumination, and winced as he found it, the light darting into his eyes and forcing them to contract quicker than they were pleased with. At least, that was what the knife that suddenly stabbed into his skull told him. 

The sound of approaching footsteps tempted his eyes open, curious to see who had captured them this time. A smile twitched at his lips in spite of himself, and he decided that the ranger's sense of humor was contagious. 

Intent blue eyes narrowed as a shadow jumped onto a wall, but he could make nothing of the shadow. He did not have to wait long, however, to discover who had cast it. 

He blinked. A girl. Then again, he had never been good at judging a human's age, not even after more prolonged contact with them. _No, not a girl. A woman._ She smiled. _Not a friendly one, either._

The elf prince held his tongue as she came closer, studying her. It did not take long to notice the dark red spots that clung to the hem of her dress, spots that looked suspiciously like blood. It suddenly occurred to him, as it had not before, that he knew not where Aragorn was. 

Looking more closely, he caught the sight of blood that also stained her sleeves, and a touch of red on her hands. He would be quite surprised to discover it was hers, but he suspected it was the human's. 

"What have you done with my friend?" he finally demanded, concern for his friend erasing any fear he held for himself. 

She smirked and wiped casually at her hands. "Funny, he never asked about you." 

"Leave him alone." 

"Tsk, tsk, my dear elf," she purred. "Presuming to order me around, when it is I who command you. Really, one would think you knew nothing of this sort of thing." 

He glared at her, his ire rising. "We have powerful friends. You would do better to release us." 

"Indeed?" she asked with an ironic smirk. "Unfortunately I rather like the little Ranger and would prefer to keep him. Perhaps if I'm pleased, I'll even let you see him." Her head tilted slightly as she regarded him with a distant grin, more looking _through_ him if the focus of her eyes was any indication. He shifted uncomfortably. 

"What do you want with us?" 

Her gaze refocused. "That, you will discover soon enough. I think the experience is always better than the telling." 

He tensed against the bonds that held him, pulling. They gave no more than they had the first time. Regretfully, that meant he was well and truly stuck. The woman stepped closer. "I don't not think I shall do to you what I did to your human friend, dear elf," she cooed, running her fingernail lightly across his skin moving up his arm with each slice. "Elves are better suited to different games." 

With that, she walked away, disappearing down a tunnel to his left and vanishing from sight. Once more, hoping that the first two times had been mistakes, he pulled at his bonds. No different fortune met his attempts and he glared down at the ropes that held him, realizing rather distantly that they were elvish ropes out of the palace. Legolas was sure that Aragorn, had he known, would find it hilarious. 

Light, quickly moving footfalls reached his ears, and he watched as the lady moved towards him. "What's your name?" he asked, deciding he had nothing to lose by asking. 

"Kaialian," she answered, gifting him with a predatory smile. "You will get to know me very well in the coming months, assuming you live so long." Her gaze traveled the length of his body. "I think you will." 

Wary blue eyes followed her movements as she carried a small black cauldron over near him and set it at his feet before disappearing from his line of sight, only to reappear moments later with another chair, and what looked to be a long needle. 

She sat in the chair near him, scooting so she had easy access to his upper arm. A small cloth appeared in her hand and she washed the area. "I have seen that Men care dearly for showing off their trophies, accomplishments." She met his gaze with a weighty one of her own. "Scars. Battle scars as proof of their accomplishments. Each victory is better than the last, and death is no scary thing, so long as they have glory. Glory," she spat. "What good is glory to the grieving left behind?" She pulled at something along the back leg of the chair, and a small arm for holding something swung up. The cauldron was hung on it and the elf felt the heat, though it was not uncomfortable as it might have been to a human. 

"I hope you are comfortable, dear Elf," she told him, nearly sounding genuine. "For you will not be going anywhere for a long time." 

Then she picked up the needle and another contraption he had never seen before. He frowned as she poked his skin. Before he could puzzle out what she was doing, burning hot liquid was forced under his skin. His breath caught, and he tensed, but refused to cry out. 

Conversationally, Kaialian began speaking, and he did his best to focus on her voice instead of the pain, with only minimal success. "There was a people many years ago, though I think you would remember them, who used pictures to depict their great achievements. To show them off, they put the pictures on their body, and the only way to make them stay, was to insert the ink under their skin." 

Some part of his mind found this little tidbit intriguing (the same part that could still think, interestingly enough), and began spinning in an attempt to puzzle out who, exactly, these people were. It sounded vaguely familiar. 

"For you, I think I will do a mountain. The catch, of course, is that I cannot use ink. Poking hundreds of little holes in a being's skin is quite painful, but not nearly painful enough. So I have decided to use tar, and it's only pliable enough when it's hot. It works even better than I had originally planned." 

Another stab of fire was placed in his arm and he let his breath out in a ragged hiss, sucking the next breath in between his teeth. Each prick, each insertion of tar, each repeated. His arm felt like it was on fire, the nerves sizzling, the pain spreading up and down his arm, up into his shoulder, and was reaching out for more, a larger area. 

With his left hand, he grasped desperately at the armrest, squeezing tightly to try and distract his mind from what the woman was doing. It did not work. Frantically, he scrambled for some avenue his thoughts could wander to get away from the pain, ignore it, so he would not have to admit how much it hurt. 

Finally, though, she reached the tenderer underside of his arm, and he was lost. A scream, full of pure agony, ripped past his throat, echoing and bouncing off the walls, rebounding and thrown back at him. He ran out of breath and choked in some more. He tried to pull away, mindlessly yanking at the ropes, but he could not escape. More fire was inserted and he screamed again, twisting his head from side to side. Tears he was not aware of streamed down his cheeks. 

How long it continued, he could not say, but before it was over, his mind had fled to other realms. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

More than an hour later, Aragorn was still staring towards where that woman had disappeared. Dread anticipation had speared adrenaline through his system, and the fear he felt for his friend kept it flowing. Maintaining such high awareness, however, was tiring and his body was beginning to tremble. 

His arms had stopped bleeding, never meant to do more than cause pain, and the dried blood caked his arms still tied palm up. They ached distantly, more an echo than any actual pain, but then, he actually had not had an opportunity to move them yet. 

Those wounds, however, were the last thing on his mind. _What will she do to Legolas?_ He had not been too bad, comparatively speaking, since he had experienced worse, but he had no idea if she intended to be as lenient with his friend. 

_What will she do to him? Oh, Legolas, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I try to protect, want to protect you, and all I do is end up getting us in trouble. Why did I trust them? I shouldn't have trusted them. Oh, Legolas. Legolas, I'm so sorry. . . . _

His mind spun in circles, apologizing and worrying in turn, then creating a hundred different scenarios, each one worse than the last as fear arched through his mind. Dark shadows seemed to swirl around the room. 

Then it happened, and his mind froze. He heard a scream. 

The pain-filled sound echoed up from the hallway he had been watching, and the human cringed away from the sound, feeling it in his heart. The stone threw the sound around the human's head, taunting him with the knowledge that his friend was in terrible pain and he could do nothing to help. 

Soon another joined the first, dancing around the room and frolicking in his head, tormenting the young ranger with his helplessness. Then another joined those, and another. Before long a steady stream was coming, never even giving the previous ones a chance to dissipate before joining the storm. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out sight of the passage he had long be watching, his body perfectly rigid, almost as if he was tensed against whatever blows were befalling his friend. 

His mind tormented him with grim knowledge. _It's your fault. It's all your fault. You're going to die, he's going to die, and it's going to be all your fault. He's going to die, and his father and your father and your brothers and everyone in Mirkwood is going to hate you because you killed him. You got him killed. It's your fault and everyone's going to blame you. Everyone's going to be right because you were wrong. You got him killed._

__

_You got him killed. It's your fault. . . . _The words echoed over and over in his overwrought mind, and he twisted his head form side to side as tears slipped over the sides, weakly denying the condemnation thrown at him. His friend's words still guarded his heart, but with every scream, every repeated condemnation, that hold slipped a little more. 

The Ungwale residue wanted control, and it was winning. Aragorn was slipping into despair, into darkness. 

He never noticed when Legolas stopped screaming; he heard the elf's cries in his head, and they never went away. Sightlessly, he stared down the passageway, locked in his own hopelessness. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

She stood, a satisfied smile on her face. The elf had reacted better than she had imagined he would. His screams were simply delicious. The pain must have been exquisite to wring a response so quickly from the habitually stubborn eldar. Perhaps she should do it again. 

Her smile widened. That could be fun; he screamed so beautifully. Of course, that reminded her of the ranger, who had not screamed at all. 

_On the other hand, maybe I should turn this on him._ She shook her head, and began gathering her tools to clean them so they could be reused. _No, the ranger will not last long enough with the same torture. Elves are stronger, after all._ No, she would have to come up with something else, something quite painful, she suspected, if she desired to wring such lovely screams from that light forsaken Dúnadan. 

She bit her lower lip lightly as she considered. Her eyes traveled towards the cavern where she had left the ranger, not so very far away, and slowly, the smile crept back onto her face. She suspected the ranger was well aware of his friend's plight. The woman doubted there was anything she could do that would hurt the other more. Hearing a friend's pain, she had heard, was quite painful, after all. She glanced at the elf. That gave her a wonderful idea. 

With a light step, she carried her toys away, already planning how she would hurt the elf--through the ranger. The two friends would be the other's bane. That was delicious. A delighted laugh echoed through the cavern, heard by neither prisoner. 

A Númenorean and an elf, two beings of the races responsible for her plight. This could not have been better had she actually planned it. Next year, she would reward the fools of Meertown, and only demand one sacrifice. They had pleased her. 

Idly, she fingered her charm necklace. 


	13. Guilt Born by Two

Hi, all! I've decided to be nice and post this today instead of waiting, sticking to the original day to post (I think) instead of keeping the time between posts constant. If you want to communicate gratitude, I'd appreciate a review. *g*****

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****I also realized I made a slight mistake. I had meant _this_ chapter seemed somewhatsuperficial. Now that I've reread it, though, I'm not so sure. I also made a few changes. Anyway, I hope you like it. 

**Serena:** Um, you could call it vicarious torture. *thinks hard* Yeah. 

**Grumpy: **A lot of places would be better than where they are now. Mm, well, her hands aren't exactly _on_ him. Oh, I want candy! Lol. Here is soon. Lol. 

**Bill the Pony:** Sure you can. I just won't make you wait any longer. *g* 

Okay, I think I've posted too quickly for you all now, and unless I get more reviews next time, I'll have to wait an extra day too make up for it. You wouldn't want that would you? 

To avoid that fate, all you have to do is send a little review. Enjoy!****

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**Chapter 13**

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**Guilt Born by Two**

Aragorn was jolted sharply from his stupor by the sound of approaching footsteps. His gray eyes focused on the passageway Kaialian had disappeared down earlier, and waited. 

As soon as she had appeared, he spoke, his voice sharp. "What have you done to him?" 

She looked up lazily, a teasing smile on her lips. "Done to whom, my sweet?" 

The ranger's eyes narrowed dangerously, looking every bit as intimidating as a king, despite the fact that he was tied to a chair, and asked the question again. "What have you done to my friend?" 

Kaialian looked at him, her smile slipping, and her brown-green eyes taking on all the warmth of a glacier. Perhaps she should have used the needle on him, after all. No, what she had planned would be even better, even if he did not last even half so long as the elf. 

"Not very patient, are we, sweety? Nay, I could not tell you. In fact, mayhap, soon, I will show you. And I would hate to ruin the surprise." She walked up next to him, lightly trailing her hand down his arm, and the ranger stiffened in pain. 

Surprise flickered in his eyes; he had all but forgotten about the cuts, which proved to be a mistake, as he remembered them vividly now. He tensed in anticipation of more pain, and the woman laughed. 

"Oh, no, Ranger. Not yet," she admonished, moving away and then coming back, a bucket in her hand. "I'm not yet ready to continue playing with you. Your friend is sleeping, after all, and we would hate for him to miss all the fun." 

She dumped part of the bucket's contents over his arm, and Aragorn stifled a shocked cry of surprise, drawing his breath in sharply, not having expected the icy cold water, though he felt he should have. The woman smiled coyly, then scrubbed at the blood on his arm with a sponge, none too gently, either. He hissed, slightly, a soft exhalation between his teeth that did not go unnoticed. Then she dumped the rest of the freezing contents on his arm and walked away. 

He shuddered from the cold. _Oh, to be an elf_, he lamented. At least this particular little cruelty did not bother them. Beings could not dump cold, ice water on them and expect it to effect them in any way. Not so for him. 

The woman returned, and he glared at her darkly, already tensing in anticipation of the freezing bath. Only to cry out in surprised pain when the water was not cold at all, but shockingly hot, scalding his arm, her scrubbing not helping the pain at all. He curled in as far as he could, pressing his head down and squeezing his eyes closed. Then the rest of the water was dumped on his arm, much of it soaking his side, and while not as hot as before, still plenty warm enough to make him jump and hiss. 

"Oh, was that too hot?" she asked, mock concern dripping from her voice. "So sorry, my sweet. I merely did not want it to be too cold." A wicked grin was tossed his way before she turned to walk away. He was too busy holding his breath against the pain to truly notice or retort. 

The young man breathed out shakily and turned his head in an attempt to track her position. He failed to visually mark her, but picked up her quiet footsteps just the same. He had a hard time discerning if her footsteps were purposely made audible to unsettle her captors, or if she was simply not capable of walking silently. Then he wondered which truly unnerved him most. 

Silence, he decided after a moment, determining that sneaky elves were worse than menacing women. The shock of the water having returned a portion of his sense of humor, he thought he was having a peculiar stroke of luck, running now into two women who fancied killing him; that the first one had changed her mind was no fault of his. 

He frowned at that thought, unnerved that he had thought convincing someone not to kill him was a fault. 

Still, as he tracked Kaialian's footsteps, he doubted he would manage the same feat with this one. He could not tell what the woman was doing, and the uncertainty was wreaking havoc on his nerves, his already frayed, sleep-deprieved, and twitchy nerves. 

He tensed as she began moving his way, only to frown when she bypassed him and moved in the direction of the passageway that led to where Legolas was being kept. Fear skittered down his spine, a feeling he was becoming quite familiar with and similarly annoyed with. 

The young man strained his ears after her, desperate to discover she was not returning to torment his friend. The steps faded from his hearing, only to return long eternities later, followed by a widely grinning Kaialian but no additional screams. 

He gulped, his eyes wide at her apparent glee; he had a feeling it did not bode well for him that she was so pleased. 

"Your friend has decided to join us, my sweet," she purred, reminding him of a content cat that was stalking his prey. "Which means that it is time for us to play." 

He turned his head to follow her movements as she stepped behind him, then returned, ten long metal pins in her hand, thin and incredibly sharp. She played with one teasingly, flipping it a bit in her palm, a strange light dancing in her eyes as she looked coyly at him. She approached the chair that was still beside him and rested a hand against it's back. 

"I think I may let him see you," she murmured, loud enough to be heard. Moving forward, she traced his arms again. "These cuts are so beautiful. Perfect, even. What do you think, hm? 

Forcing himself to be steady, he simply returned her gaze, gray eyes hard as flint. She was not deterred. "Ah, yes, I think he would enjoy it. Though, I suppose you don't want to talk. 'Tis fine. We can play instead. I think you will like this game." 

The glint in her eyes convinced him he would not. Without another word, she moved over to his hand, first depositing all but one of the long pins on the chair behind her, then held it lightly over his hand, just touching his skin. Her hand hovered over his, the pin dangling from her fingers and she traced it lightly across his palm before taking a firmer hold of it and placing the point against his fingertip. 

Horrible realization shot through him and he tried desperately to move his hand away, struggling, though he could go nowhere. Her other hand had already come down to pin the finger in place, though the ropes had not allowed it to move much in the first place. 

Aragorn grit his teeth, bracing for the horrible pain, his fingers already aching with the mental picture of what she was about to do. Then the object slid into his finger and he screamed, the horrible pain cutting through him, a hundred times worse than he had imagined, and reason was driven from his mind. His body tensed, pulling against the ropes, forcing the unforgiving lines into his skin and cutting it deeply. Red surrounded the ropes, but whether or not it was blood was hard to say. 

The pin held his finger rigid, and every twitch--every hint of a twitch--sent more fire through his finger and up his arm, moving all the way to his head. He gasped raggedly, his lungs refusing to work properly in light of the conflicting orders streaming through his mind, namely: hold still, and breathe. 

A far distant part of his mind, somehow still removed from the pain, noted that the object had pierced bone. He would hate to see what his father had to say about this, assuming he escaped in the first place. So far, that was not looking to be a very promising possibility. 

He struggled valiantly against the overwhelming pain, forcing himself to remain awake despite his agony, and not quite sure why he desired consciousness over the blissful darkness of unconsciousness when he had desired just that after the cuts on his arm, and those were nothing compared to the pain the pin in his finger inflicted. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut as if the pain could not reach him if he could not see it. 

Suddenly, sadistically, the pin in his finger _twisted_, grinding against the bone and shifting against the screaming nerves. His eyes flew open, and he _shrieked_, the high, pain-filled sound vibrating the very stone around them and lights, brilliantly white, flashed before his eyes, strobing light and dark. Small rocks and pebbles worked their way lose and collapsed to the floor around them. 

When he managed to at least partially catch his breath, the small, distant, sole remaining part of his brain still capable of thought noted she had ten of those pins, and that he had ten fingers, and that she most likely intended to do the same thing _ten times_. 

His eyes were wide as he stared intently, fearfully, at the shiny objects that rested just behind her, eyes glazed and incoherent, unaware that tears streamed down his cheeks. Soft, clear laughter pried his attention up almost automatically, and he caught the glint of another of them in her hands, slowly being twisted in her hand. "Don't enjoy this too much, my sweet. We still have a long ways to go." 

Whimpering against his will, he suddenly screamed again when the next pin was shoved into his finger. The pain once more overwhelmed rational thought, and though he knew there was a reason he had not wanted to scream--aside from personal pride--he could not pinpoint what that reason had been. 

Before he knew it, a strange, bitter concoction was flowing down his throat, his traitorous body swallowing before it even registered in his overwrought mind that he was swallowing, and it burned on the way down, the new sensation almost unnoticed as his fingers shrieked. Too late, he realized it was something he did not want to drink, the mixture speeding up his heart and awakening his mind. Unconsciousness suddenly seemed a whole lot further away. 

Just then, another pin was shoved into his finger, and thought was left alone, shattering into a million pieces which drifted away from his reach, not even sought after as the pain sought to detach him from all save the pain, losing himself in a swirling world of dark and light that flashed with each new burst of pain. 

He screamed. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

A groan echoed through the room. It's lone occupant frowned as he tried to discover who had made the sound. He could find no one else anywhere around him, not that that was surprising considering his eyes were closed. 

_Closed? Wait a second. When did I close my eyes?_

He frowned and tried to pry his upper lids away from his bottom lids. Neither cooperated, and he would not have been surprised to discover they had, in fact, been glued together some time while he was . . . sleeping? Had he been sleeping? 

He did not feel rested, and sleep usually helped you feel better. He felt horrible, so that must not have been it. He tried to shift positions, and heard another moan, this time sounding closer. 

The elf half jumped in surprise at how close this other person had to be before he realized the sounds had come from himself. Had he had the energy, he would have blushed at how long it had taken him to reach that conclusion. Really, though, he could come up with no reason why he should hurt so bad. 

Why did he hurt in the first place? Oh, right. Woman. Needle. Tar. Hot. He groaned again and moved his head from side to side, groaning louder when that motion did not go over well with said head. He sighed, then finally managed to pry his eyelids open after several time consuming and useless tries. 

The cavern he was in, not surprisingly, looked exactly the way he remembered, minus the woman in the golden dress sitting in a chair next to him and poking him incessantly with fire. It was a variation he was not disappointed by in the least. Carefully, he looked down at his arm to see a black shape outlined and partially shadowed. 

Legolas frowned. Partially shadowed. She did not plan on returning to finish once he was awake, did she? 

He heard approaching footsteps, and froze, then closed his eyes to pretend he was not awake. They paused near him, then retreated back in the direction they had come. Cautiously, the elf lifted his head to glance back towards the passageway that lead from his room, saw it empty, and breathed a sigh of relief. 

She had fallen for it and was not coming back to finish. The pain was only an echo now, a shadow at the back of his mind, but he had no desire to become reacquainted with it. Besides, the longer she was away, the more time he would have to figure out a way to escape and free Aragorn. 

Aragorn. 

The elf's eyes widened. Oh no. What if instead of hurting him, she decided to hurt the ranger? Suddenly, he wished he had not pretended unconsciousness, that she had not left, that she had instead stayed and introduced him to some new kind of pain, just so long as she did not do anything to Aragorn. 

His friend had undergone enough trauma. He had only just returned to them, albeit not quite whole, but definitely on the mend, and now she was just going to break him again. The elf wondered, painfully, how many times the young human could be broken before he could no longer be put back together and they finally lost him whether he lived or not. 

Humans were fragile, easily getting sick and nowhere near as resilient as the firstborn. What if he could not stand what she did to him, and he never returned? Something was already preying on the ranger's mind. What if this woman pushed him further into the shadows, away from their help, so far that they could no longer reach him? What if he lost his friend? 

Blue eyes widened, pain and fear shining in their depths. What would Lord Elrond say? Valar, what would he _do_? The lord of Imladris had sent his human son to Legolas to help him, and what did the elf prince do but get him into even worse trouble, possibly causing his death. 

With that thought, he started twisting in his binds, pulling at the ropes as heedless of his injured arm as the protestations from his head. The cavern spun nauseatingly around him but he kept pulling, fighting, desperately twisting his hands, heedless of the blood that began to seep into the ropes that held him without sway. He kept at it, sawing and twisting. Maybe, just maybe, if he kept at it long enough, the ropes would give way. He denied everything he knew about his people's elven rope and refused to give up. 

Then an inhuman sound echoed through the room, freezing him in surprise. The noise was so unexpected that it took him a moment to identify it. When he did, any and all remaining color drained from his face and his body fell limp. 

_Oh, Aragorn_, he thought despairingly. _Mellon nin, I am so sorry. So very sorry. _

He choked on a sob, tears pricking at his eyes as he realized that, once again, his friend was being tormented and there was nothing he could do. He was trapped, able to hear his friend's pain, but unable to help, unable to end it or relieve the other's suffering. A tear slipped down his cheek as he dropped his head back against the top of his chair, the dull _thunk_ of impact meaning nothing to him in the face of his friend's pain. 

Before the echoes even had a chance to fade, they were overrun by the most painful sounding shriek Legolas had ever heard, making him cringe as the sound assaulted his ears, and the agony the sound carried assaulted his heart. The very mountain trembled with the sound, and Legolas shuddered. 

Images from the past flew across the backs of his closed eyelids, a slide-show of events he could not escape from by looking away, some of which he did not want to remember nor relive. Images of his time together with Aragorn, from their very first meeting, to the quiet times, to the hair-raising and deadly adventures, and the teasing banter. 

Another scream was added to the cacophony of the first, bouncing around the bound elf and indelibly marking his memories. What was she doing to pain his friend so? He began struggling again, twisting his wrist and attempting to wear out the ropes. He had a feeling it was his wrist that would wear out first. 

Another scream, this one just as pain-filled but quieter than the last and the first, hoarse. The human was running out of strength. Against his will, Legolas' movements slowed, nearly stilling as he listened to his friend's pain, those agonized cries the only links to the young man that were left to him, the only way he could judge his condition. 

He did not even want to imagine what that woman could be doing to pain his friend so, but his mind refused to listen, and provided a host of images, each worse than the last, the screams echoing around and through his mind, threatening to pull the elf's mind down the very same dark path Aragorn's had traveled into despair, whispering at him to give up while his friends screams provided a soundtrack for the gruesome images. 

Unlike the human, though, he fought the suffocating darkness of despair, aware of the dark whispers Aragorn was too near to be able to resist the tempting call. Pushing against the darkness, knowing that all was lost as soon as he gave up, gave in, Legolas grit his teeth and bore the pain, hoping that some way, some how, his friend would find the strength to hold on until he could get them both out. 

And with that resolution, another scream echoed. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

At the foot of the Mountains of Mirkwood, a lone man stood, dark gray eyes watching their peaks as the white snow glistened in the bright sun. White reflected back to dazzle his eyes, but to his mind, the snow was red. 

He should be working, readying for the bite of winter that hovered on the horizon, yet he could not. His heart would not release him to his duties. Agitated, plagued by guilt, he had not attended the festival the night before, instead choosing to watch from a distance. 

He had watched, and it made him sick. Those two, their _guests_, had been seeking help, had been injured, had trusted them, and what had they done? They may as well have fed them to the wolves, it would have been kinder. Or the orcs, even, likely would have been a better fate than sending them to the Witch of the Mountains. The orcs, at least, were unlikely to keep you around for a year, in pain, constantly in pain, though there was no proof anyone actually lasted that long. 

Every year he had been spared, been passed over in favor of his fellows, he had come to this very spot to stare at the mountain. Every year, if the wind was just right, he could swear the sound of screaming reached his ears, full of unspeakable agony. 

And just like every year, distant screams met his ears, stabbing knives through his heart. He did not know the two that had been placed in her hands, yet he felt he did, or would like to. They had been innocent. His mind whispered that those two would have volunteered to help, that they could have helped his people had they just asked them instead of depositing them, helpless and ignorant, into her twisted grip. 

Worse, though, was the knowledge that he could have helped them and done nothing. He had watched, knowing that meal was to be their last--their last meal in comfort, in any case--and done nothing to warn them as his heart had so desperately pleaded. 

He could have helped, and done nothing, left them to the fate that had been placed upon them by cowards who preferred to cling to nothing instead of fighting the darkness. 

Pained, dark eyes closed tightly, as he swallowed. When they opened again, a new resolve shone in their depths. Then, with a last glance back at the village he had called home, where he lived with people he could no longer stand to call kin, he started towards the mountain. 

Maybe hope could be salvaged. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Aragorn lay very still, his skin deathly pale and sparkling from the sheen of sweat that drenched his body, plastering his shirt to his chest and back, and which occasionally dripped down his back, slowly. Glazed, unaware eyes stared off into the distance, a dark, dull gray that was completely alien to anyone who knew him; never had they, through even the worst of dangers, looked thus. 

Ten rods had been stabbed through the tips of his fingers, ten rods stuck out the end, ten rods held his fingers straight, and ten fingers wanted nothing more than to move, occasionally twitching and sending sparks, agonizing sparks, of pain up his arms. Blood dripped slowly from the tips, and had the human had a choice, or the chance, he would have cut his hands off in a heartbeat. 

His breathing was strained and shallow, erratic and whispery through the air. The injuries themselves were less grievous than many others the human had sustained in his short life-time, yet never before had so few wounds hurt so very much. His mind had spiraled away into a dark room, locked away from all that happened to him. 

He was unresponsive to outside stimuli, his body jerking, but he no longer screamed, and his expression did not change. The pain had been too much, mixed with the drug to keep him conscious. 

That was how Legolas saw him, broken, and his heart ached, threatening to follow the human down that dark abyss. Sobs caught in his throat and tears pricked at his eyes. "Aragorn," he whispered. "Hold on, my friend. Hold on. Don't leave yet, please don't leave." 

Kaialian, for her part, was immensely pleased. When she had decided to show the elf his friend, she had not expected the other's pain to be so scrumptious. The desolation in the luminous being's eyes was even better than she had imagined. An irrepressible smile graced her features, lighting her face up like a little girl's whose every wish had just come true. 

At this moment, it matter not to her if she could never play with the ranger again, he had given her all she needed with his delightful screams, and the pain his condition inflicted on the elf was priceless. She could have spent ages trying to break that one, and his own friend had broken him in less than a day. 

Her eyes danced. These two almost made her feel at peace, like the debt men owed her had finally been paid, like she could finally let go. Yet she could not, and she would not have wanted to if she could. That sorcerer had gifted her with eternal life, and men would pay for all eternity. But if these two proved finished, she might just have to lure another man into her grasp and play with him . . . remembering to go a bit slower this time. 

She pushed the dazed elf into a seat, the fair being forgetting to resist her in his distress, and continued to simply stare at his friend. Kaialian had decided to leave them in the same room. Maybe she could increase this delicious pain if they could see each other. It was worth a try. Perhaps the sight of his friend's pain would even bring the ranger back around. One could never tell, after all. 

Feeling incredibly satisfied with herself, she left the two alone in the room. She never realized, in her pleasure, that she had forgotten to secure the elf to the chair. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Unnoticed by all, the mountain shifted. The ground trembled, rocks and boulders jumped and bounced down inclines until they could go no further. The caverns that sheltered the occupants trembled, pressed down by tons of rock, age wearing the sides away, until they no more could support the weight. 

Aragorn, locked in his own mind, never noticed the shift in the mountain. Legolas, lost in his worries for his friend, held by shock, never felt the shift, the feeling of impending doom, so similar to what it was he had been feeling all along. And Kaialian, so used to the occasional grumblings of the mountain, so pleased with her accomplishments, nothing dark or bad penetrated her thoughts. She gave no consideration to the condition of her own home. 

It had stood for five hundred years. It would stand for five hundred more. 

Only it would not. 


	14. Nature's Aid Or Destruction

Hi all! Chapter 14 and six chapters left. It all seems to be going so quickly and I'm not closer to having the sequel ready for you all to enjoy. *sigh* 

I'm going to warn you that I don't think this is one of my better chapters. It degenerates towards the end, hopefully the next chapter is better. I think it is. In fact, I'm almost positive it is, but that's neither here nor there. 

**Kathira:** *looks pleased* That is a request I think I can manage. Sort of. Next story if not this one. He just can't escape. 

**Grumpy:** lol. Yeah, my hands hurt writing the thing. I had to keep stopping and flexing my fingers. If he were smart, he'd never come out, but that comes later. You can ask him, but I think he'd rather have Arwen. *smiles* The woman's fate will be revealed. *g* 

**NaughtyNat: **Oh, boy. Not that I'm complaining, cause I'm not. But oh, boy. Let's see. *wades in slowly* I had to babysit yesterday. A six year-old and a fifteen month old. Both were actually very sweet. But maybe that's because I only had to spend five hours with them, and they were asleep for two of those. Lol. Proabably, but I think that's an overused phrase and could actually be applied to nearly every chapter. Hehe. Then, I changed directions I was going with the fic after titling it and never changed the title. *shrugs* Mm, maybe. Elves are definitely tricky to comprehende. Maybe that's why I've gotten so into hurting Aragorn. Him I understand. Lol. He might try to become less comprehendable if he ever finds out, though, so shhh. *g* lol. Mm, yes, he makes girls so flustered. Um, that's actually a reference to Mellon Chronicles, somewhere around Mistaken Identity, I believe. It's always been a joke, but the shadows have made darker and taken away the humor behind it. That's where it originally came from, and the ones who mentioned it in the dreams that I have written were Elladan and Elrohir, but he's had others that haven't been seen by anyone but him. Who's knows what has happened there, away from prying eyes. *g* Oops, guess I forgot to spellcheck that chapter. *looks absurdly pleased* Then it worked. I wanted it that way. And you are the 50th. I feel I should have a prize, but alas! Lol. Someone who agrees that this is _fun_! Lol. Lol. *snorts* Blame the pins on this action movie I saw once where they were somewhere, maybe Korea maybe China, and were torturing somone. That was the torture. It's been years and I don't remember very well. I just remember my hands hurting at the thought, watching the pin placed against his finger, the fear in his eyes, then being whisked away to the outside of the room and hearing desperate pain-filled cries. *g* You just so wanted to know that, I cant tell. *cheeky grin* lol. Yes, if all else fails, glare. A great motto. I can believe it's the biggest, and this is close to the biggest response I've ever done because of it, if not the biggest. Escape time, yes. Coming up. Miraculous? Yet to be seen. *g* 

**Lauren:** Hi, Lurker! *waves* I just have to thank you for your email. I'm mostly a lurker, too. *looks sheepish* It's so terrible to ask people to review and then not review myself. Not that I read all that many stories. I'm too picky. Hehe. I'm glad you're enjoying it so much. Thank you so much for your kind words. They mean a lot. 

Okay, now I can get on to the story. Then I can track down my sister and borrow Two Towers. After that, I can write the next chapter to The Storm and possibly finish it so I can continue writing my next story. If I can get back to writing it, I can probably have it finished by Christmas. If, If, If. . . . *sighs in frustration* Ah, now if only I could get everything to work and write somewhere _other_ than school so I can actually pay attention in class. Lol. 

Anyway, read. Enjoy. Review. You know the drill. =D****

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**Chapter 14**

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**Nature's Aid--Or Destruction**

Legolas sat, and watched. He was almost in a trance himself, sent there by shock and grief. He had lost his best friend. After all they had been through, and all that had happened, he had lost his best friend. The human he had almost left to die in his hatred, who had worked his way into many hearts and changed many minds, who was the hope of men, and he had lost him. 

That was he gone, though, had yet to penetrate his brain, too shocked was he by his friend's state. He could almost imagine the young man was going to look at him at any minute, smile, and make a truly odd comment. . . . 

~*~ 

Silence had surrounded Legolas and Aragorn for many hours, a fact that surprised the palace staff, especially when they discovered both laying quietly in the prince's room not even planning any great or terrible feat--and knowing them it would likely have been the latter. 

The elf prince, even, found it highly unusual for his friend to stay quiet for so long, well aware of his usual habits. _Of course, he could be sleepy_, he reasoned, aware that when humans slept they were generally quite quiet. 

He shifted slightly to glance at the human who was laying on the floor above him, feet against the wall. Intense silver eyes stared up at the ceiling, watching the curtains that were near him dancing in the morning breeze. 

Confused, he watched the ranger watching the hanging decorations, not seeing in the least what could make them so extraordinarily fascinating. There were other trinkets scattered around his room that provided far better entertainment than his window curtains, and yet the human had bypassed them all in favor of watching lightly floating fabric. It was incredible. 

_I will never understand humans_, he thought, still incredulous at the attention garnered by a bit of fluttering fabric. _Mayhap he has lost his mind_. 

Regardless of the reason, however, Aragorn kept staring and, lacking any sort of satisfying explanation, Legolas kept watching Aragorn. Neither so much as glanced away from their subject for a moment nor blinked more often than absolutely necessary. 

The curtain, for its part, floated on happily, never suspecting it was the the subject of such scrutiny; and Aragorn watched on, seemingly unaware of the scrutiny of Legolas, another thing the elf could not understand as the ranger had always proven incredibly aware of his surroundings. For a human, that is. 

Somewhere in there, Legolas lost all track of the passage of time. They could have remained thus for three days and he would not have been able to say so. He was much surprised, then, when Aragorn started laughing. 

The elf's eyebrows rose towards his hairline, perplexed, as the other's shoulders started shaking with surpressed laughter. His blue eyes darted up to the curtain which still floated with the breeze. To his eyes, nothing had changed, so what did the human find so funny? 

Then Aragorn rolled over onto his stomach and looked at him, head propped up by his hands, eyes twinkling brightly. "How long were you prepared to wait before you were finally going ask?" 

Legolas blinked. "Ask what?" 

One of the human's eyebrows lifted questioningly, his expression the epitome of someone dying to say "Are you daft, or just stupid?" Instead, he said, "Come now, Legolas. Surely there was something you felt inclined to discover. You do not stare at me for minutes and hours on end, if you are not trying to puzzle out something." 

The elf blinked slowly, once, twice, three times just for good measure, as he tried to get his mind to shift gears and make what his friend was saying make sense. Apparently, Aragorn had been paying more attention to his surroundings than he had thought. 

"How long have you known I was watching you?" he finally asked. 

"Three hours." 

"I have not been wathcing you for three hours!" cried the elf, surprised, but even as the words left his mouth, he had an odd feeling it had actually been a good deal longer. 

Aragorn laughed. "Ah, my good Master Elf. Three hours it has been since I first noticed your rather intense stare." He paused, looking rather like the cat that swallowed the canary. "Of course, it could be closer to four hours." 

Legolas' jaw dropped before he could stop it, then snapped it shut and narrowed his eyes. "You did that on purpose." 

A wide grin split the human's face. "Why, of course! What could possibly be so fascinating about window curtains as to hold my attention for nearly four hours?" 

For a moment, there was silence. Then the elf started chuckling. Once he started chuckling, he could not stop and the chuckling turned into giggling. A glance at his friend's half-perturbed-half-amused face sent the giggles into a full blown laughing fit. 

_Maybe humans are not so hard to understand after all_. Shortly thereafter, Aragorn joined him, laughter being, after all, highly contagious. 

~*~ 

It occured to him, distantly, that they had been in the same position mere days ago, though not with exactly the same results. _How many things_, he wondered,_ do I take forgranted that might not be there when next I look?_

He had never, exactly, taken Aragorn's presence forgranted. He was well aware that one day his human friend would cease to be around and that he would never see him again. That one day Aragorn would die and pass to the Halls of Mandos, beyond his reach forever, and that he would pass over the sea in the fullness of time and be forever beyond Aragorn's reach. But perhaps, just perhaps, he had forgotten to appreciate the little things, moments suspended in time, though he missed them greatly whenever they were gone. 

He remembered the time when they had spent a whole afternoon trying to create a love potion from a dusty old book to give to the twins, ending in a highly amusing spectacle over dinner. His friend's steady presence was always comforting, whether Aragorn was standing beside him in a prank or if they were facing death at the hands of goblins or worse. The human's wide grin, or the way his eyes changed colors ever so slightly when he was planning mischief, or his friend's ready assurance that he was "fine" even when he was not, while aggravating, would be unbearable if they were suddenly gone. 

Blue eyes shining with tears regarded the unmoving young man. He looked dead, save for the rise and fall of his chest, and the occassional shudders that worked through his frame everytime his fingers accidentally moved. The pain was likely terrible, though one would never be able to tell from the blank expression on the human's face. 

A single tear slipped down his cheek and a shuddering breath wracked his own frame. He blinked and looked around quickly, noting Kaialian was no longer present and slumped back in his chair with an undefinable emotion somewhere between relief and depression. He slid forward and felt the end of the chair beneath him. 

A moment later he sat back up in surprise. He had been bound, yes, but she had not bound him to the chair, a fact which (though he had yet to figure out exactly what to do) gave him hope for their escape. Surely he could come up with something now that he was no longer confined to his chair. 

The elf looked around, his keen eyes searching for something to help remove his bindings. He could nothing from his position before Aragorn, and stood to get a better look. 

His legs trembled slightly as he rose, weakly protesting his weight before his mind was used to standing again. He took three steps and could see behind his friend a pedestal of sorts. It was made of stone, highly polished and mostly smooth, and atop it lay a metal tray which gleamed slightly in the dim lighting from the torch; its workmanship seamed vaguely familiar, though he was several steps closer before he realized the reason was that it, too, had been made by the wood-elves. 

Upon the tray, he noticed a couple more pointed sticks, an odd knife, a twisted device he could not even begin to place the use of though he knew if was used to torture someone, a vice that was thin and big enough to pace around a person's head, and a double bladed device that rotated around an axis with two handles at one end. He stared at that, but could not make out what it was. 

Not that he particularly cared, and he turned so he could grab the odd knife in his hands, which were bound behind his back. It felt odd to be picking up an item he could not see, and he moved slowly to avoid slicing his hands during his attempt. Eventually, though, he managed and began slowly slicing through the ropes that bound him, the motion awkward because of how tightly his hands were tied. 

When the ropes finally gave with a sharp _snap_, the elf prince's hands dropped with the release of pressure. He let out the breath he had been holding to keep his hands steady in one breath, his shoulders slumping. Quickly, he pushed down the rest of the ropes and freed himself from their entangling clutches. 

Walking quickly back around to Aragorn, Legolas examined his friend, paying close attention to the quills sticking out of the human's fingers, anxious as to whether or not he could take them out or if that would prove decidely detrimental to his the young man's health. 

He chewed his bottom lip anxiously as his keen eyes took in the damage, then darted toward each of the three corridors that led out of the cavern in turn, checking to make sure his ears had not deceived him and that the woman was not returning. All was still quiet and no one moved. Somehow, that did not reassure him as much as he would have liked. 

His body practically humming with urgency and adrenaline, Legolas turned back to the dark-haired man before him, staring into space with glassy eyes unrecognizable as his friend. He reached out a hand and brushed it across Aragorn's forehead to check for a temperature, then back through his hair to brush some wayward strands out of his face. 

"Oh, Aragorn," he murmured. "I wish I had paid a bit more attention to my lessons. I don't want to lose you to a stupid mistake of mine." His voice was hoarse and barely audible, even to his elven ears. 

Again shaky, he stood and made his way partway down one of the corridors leading off the one they were in, looking for herbs or bandages that could be used to help him in his task. 

Arriving in the next cavern, he found nothing of use, only several books scattered at intervals around the small space, most stacked haphazardly around a single chair and low table. It led off into another chamber, but the elf was unwilling to travel so far from his friend's side, in case Kaialian decided to come, and so returned to try a different corridor. 

A distant rumbling that nevertheless shook the ground he was walking on, caused Legolas to pause after stumbling slightly. Dust worked its way free from the ceiling and the elf looked up apprehensively. He could hear small rocks dropping to the ground and skittering sharply, clattering before they came to a halt. 

At the moment, the elf prince was not finding it difficult to remember why he disliked caves so much. He had been in more than one cave-in, and found the experience lacking and one he had no desire to repeat. That, of course, accounted for most of his dislike of caves, but was not helped a sinlge iota by his experiences with orcs, goblins, or the lack of starlight which elves so loved. 

This most recent experience, the elf observed darkly, was not likely to improve that opinion at all. With a last, wary glance above his head, Legolas set off once more, this time arriving in the exact cavern he wanted. 

Organized and sorted into tiny cubicles which had been carved into the rock walls themselves were various healing supplies: bandages, herbs, knives, mixing bowls, grinding stones, clean rags, and even pitchers full of water. 

With a little cry that was mostly triumph, the elf began making his way around the room, gathering the supplies he would need, beginning with the most basic, like water and bandages, before proceeding to the shelves full of various healing herbs. These he shuffled past, peering at intently and muttering under his breath. 

He was aggravated to discover they were not labeled and wished afresh that he had paide better attention in his lessons or that Aragorn could help him, for he knew the young man to be an accomplished healer who would surely be able to tell which herbs were which and would be useful for what. 

The elf scanned the items quickly, keen eyes darting back and forth across the items, desperately searching for some he knew. With hundreds lining the wall, and most of them seeming to be collected from Mirkwood itself, he knew he should know all of them. But while he could identify most of them, he was also at a lose as to what they _did_. 

He bounced on the balls of his feet in anxious agitation, a highly un-elf-like move that would have got him a deeply disapproving glare from his father and a long lecture, but which in his current mood did not even register in his mind, much less register in his mind as an elf prince no-no. 

~*~ 

"Don't you ever stop?" 

Silver eyes turned to look at him, the man's expression slightly confused. "Stop what?" 

Both eyebrows rose as the elf regarded his friend, who had been in perpetual movement, even when he had no where to go and nothing to do, for the past six hours. "Moving. It is unbecoming a future king to act so undignified." 

Had he not been quite so irritated, he would have found the other's expression amusing, and he barely noticed the other had stopped bouncing up and down. Surprise changed in a flash to incredulity, and then the young man shook his head and began pacing, his movements short and agitated. "I will not be king," he declared flatly, not looking at the prince. "And we lowly humans do not have ages to wait and so have yet to see the value of patience." 

"Then you should see it, at least, for you will need it ere long," Legolas shot back, his eyes tracing the other's path though his head did not move. 

"Why shall I need it?" Now Aragorn was irritated. 

"To complete your destiny." 

Anger flashed briefly in the silver eyes that turned on the elf prince, and for a moment Legolas was tempted to step back, then it was gone, and the elf could nearly believe he was looking into the eyes of a lost child. "The world does not need me," he answered, his tone weary nearly to the point of being mournful. "It is better off without my interference." 

"And what of all we have done, Aragorn?" Legolas asked. "What of that? Surely you do not think it was useless." 

"Any other could have done the same." 

Legolas shook his head, stepping in front of his friend to halt his movements when he tried to continue his circuit. Blue eyes found and held silver. "No other could have accomplished the same," he declared. "We are placed where we are to play a part, mellon nin, and none can run lest their path fail to the ruin of all." 

Doubt stared back at him from his friend's eyes. Words had never truly had the same impact on the young ranger as actions, so he simply stared, and waited. Finally, something very near amusement flickered in the silver depths. "What, my friend, does that have to do with patience?" 

Legolas laughed. 

~*~ 

Red, green, green with yellow, purple, teal, lavender, every color imaginably found in nature was respresented in the stores. Finally, his mind cooperated and he grabbed a couple herbs that helped with inflammation and bleeding--stopping it, that is. He dumped the various herbs in a bowl and grabbed a pitcher of water, the bowl in one hand and the pitcher in the other, intending to rush back down the corridor. 

Instead, he paused. Time was, obviously, of the essence, but he could not afford to have to do things over again. He set both down and scanned the room for what he was forgetting. Bandages: he stuffed some in one of his pockets. Blue eyes scanned the room, mind desperately flying over everything he knew about the situation, his friend's injuired, cures he had used, and anything else that seemed the least bit relevant. 

Two more herbs caught his attention, and he lunged for them, quickly stuffing them in his pockets before grabbing up the rest of his chosen supplies and scurrying quickly back down the corridor, his knees bent to keep his passage as quiet as possible in the echoing cave system. Still his footsteps seemed entirely too loud. 

Many minutes had passed since Kaialian had left, he was sure, though he could not remember how many. More had passed since he had left to search for supplies. He could not afford to be caught unprepared for her return lest they both suffer again, and the elf was quite sure Aragorn was not up to enduring any more attention from the woman. 

Too long for his nerves, but really barely five minutes, Legolas reentered the cavern where Aragorn waited, unmoved from where he had been left, his postition as exact as if he had been carved from stone. 

He dropped to his knees at the foot of the chair where the human was tied and placed his findings down gently, careful not to break either the bowl nor the pitcher. Worried blue eyes darted up to look at his friend's face, hoping for some kind of life to flicker in their depths. 

"Aragorn," he whispered, loud enough to hear, low enough not to carry too far even with the echoes of the stone. "Aragorn. Please, answer. Aragorn. . . . Strider, do not. . . ." No change was wrought in the man's pale features and he could not bring himself to continue. 

Legolas turned back to his supplies, scooping the herbs out of the bowl, then dumping the remainder out so as to not mix them accidentally. Quickly and quietly, he worked, pausing every so often to glance at his friend, or towards the corridor that led away to wherever that woman had gone. 

A distant and unsettling rumble started somewhere in the distance, sounding as if it came from all around, and the elf froze. This time, it sounded closer and disturbingly familiar, as if he had heard it before. Admittedly, there had been a similar occurrence earlier, but that was not where the familiarity came from. He watched as the torch light flickered, dim though it already was, and rocks crashed to the ground around him. The stone beneath his knees and hands trembled, and wary eyes turned to look at it. Loose sand bounced, before falling still, and the rumbings died away. 

Slowly, blue eyes were dragged upward, panic beginning to play in their depths. He bypassed his friend to gaze, apprehensively, at the ceiling, his keen eyes for the first time noting the spider wed of hairline cracks that riddled the expanse. "By the Valar," he whispered, his voice little more than an exhalation of air, "please don't let this mountain be coming down." 

His gaze drifted, reluctantly, back down to the human tied before him. So well was Aragorn tied down, that the jouncing had merely moved his head, putting it at a less than comfortable angle, and the elf could not resist moving it to a more comfortable position. Legolas turned back to his mixture. It was done. 

He laid it carefully aside, secured as best he could against tipping, and moved a bit closer to Aragorn, the better to reach his hands. Once in position, he reached back for the pads and bandages, pulling them closer. Resisting the guilt that threatened to overwhelm him, he pried his friend's mouth open and pushed the folded pad inside then tied the bandage around his head and between his lips to ensure his silence. They could little afford for his friend to bring that woman down on top of them while he was trying to get them out, but it hurt his heart to have to restrain his friend so, for the best or not. 

Doggedly pushing on, he moved back to his friend's fingers, studying them intently. Had the pins been pushed through the bone? He thought they had. What did that mean? Was there something special he needed to do in that case? That was the problem, since he had no idea if removing them now might not just cause more problems than leaving them in. 

That, however, was something he simply could not do. He could not leave them and let his friend continue in that pain, could not leave them when he knew that was what had forced his friend into the unresponsive catatonic state in which he currently resided. 

He looked at Aragorn's blank face and sighed. It was times like this when he desperately missed the human's odd sense of humor. He knew the ranger could have made him feel better about this, pointed out some thing or other, but now he could not. All because of that woman. Hatred he had long held at bay bubbled up inside him, and while he would not risk Aragorn's health, he was certainly going to return to finish her off. 

With that thought as a reminder, he glanced back towards the tunnel she had disappeared into, listening as well as searching for a hint of her return. Thankfully, there was still no sign of her, a fact which greatly puzzled the elf for he had not considered her to be one to leave her prey simply lying idle. 

Another tremor, though much smaller this time, brought his attention firmly back to the ranger before him and pushed out any concerns about her continued absense. With any luck, perhaps she had simply died and they did not have to worry about her any more. That, however, seemed a possibility far too good to be true. 

_I'm sorry, Aragorn,_ he thought to his friend, then placed one hand atop the human's and gripped the pin firmly with the other, trying not to jar it and failing miserably, the pained jerk of his friend evidence of that. He closed his eyes as the pain of what he knew his friend had to be feeling--whether it registered or not--flowed through him. A tear slipped down his cheek, then he pulled. 

His ears were assaulted by the scraping of metal against bone (the only sound in the empty cavern), a discordant scratching that was somehow worse that the worst screech he had ever heard in his life because it was happening to his friend and causing untold pain. The sound made him nauseous just thinking about how it was causing that, and he swallowed painfully before giving the instrument a final tug, pulling it free so that he could see the entire shiny length. 

For a breif eternity, he stared at it, mesmerized, caught in his own swirling emotions with no clear idea of how he was going to be able to stand pulling out nine more identical pins. Then the soft drip of blood caught his attention and he leaned down to the bowl, dabbing the center of one of the pads in the mixture. He placed the moistened part on the tip of the human's finger, forcefuly ignoring the pain he must have been causing, and wrapped the rest of the pad around it. If nothing else, it would stop the wound from attracting dirt and becoming infected. He hoped. Then he wound a length of the bandages around it and tied it securely. 

In his mind, he imagined what Aragorn would say to this, and knew he would complain endlessly about being mothered and how he would not be able to use his hands. He could imagine the conversation, and somehow that hurt more. Two tears tracked their way down his cheeks, even as he blinked the rest back. When they were home, and Aragorn well on his way to recovery, then he could afford to cry, not before. 

As quickly and carefully as he could, he finished the procedure on the first hand, then moved on to the second. He could hear muffled sounds coming from his friend, filled with pain, but knew it to be reflexive, for he found no awareness in the young man's eyes. 

He could not stand the emptiness and quickly looked away, returning his attention to the hand he was currently removing pins from. He had two pins left to go and could not keep his hands from shaking, though they were steady enough each time he removed a pin. He feared he would break before the task was completed, and his breaths were shaky testaments to his inner battle. He pulled the ninth pin out and began to bandage it. 

How could someone do this to another human being? How could a woman, who was supposed to be nurturing and gentle, kind and caring, inflict such torment on one who could not even defend themselves? He could not understand it, was not sure he _wanted_ to understand, but found it terrible just the same. What could push her so far as to erase nature's imprints from her mind? 

He pulled the tenth pin and dropped it as if he had been burned. The ground trembled again and the thin length of metal skittered away, tinkling almost laughingly, like it was taunting the elf. Taking a deep breath, Legolas did his best to ignore it and simply finish what he had started. But then, his breath froze. 

He heard footsteps. Wide blue, horror filled eyes, turned to look at Aragorn, whose expression did not change. Wildly his mind cast around for what to do. His first instinct said "hide," but where would he hide? And he could not simply leave Aragorn alone to her mercies once more. He could not. 

The elf looked around wildly, and his gaze came to rest on the small knife-like object he had used to cut his binds. He snatched it up and held it at the ready before him, moving to place himself between the ranger and the oncoming threat. 

Then, though, he realized something he should have noticed before. The footsteps were coming from the wrong direction. True, he had no idea how many tunnels there were and if they connected, but always before she had reemerged from the same tunnel she had exited through. These footsteps were coming from a completely different direction, one Kaialian had never come from before. 

Legolas frowned, and concentrated harder. His sharp hearing told him then that the steps were also too heavy to be those of the woman, especailly as her steps had alwasy been faint even when she was but a few feet away. He caught only the barest whisper of cloth as the rumblings from the mountain fell away into silence, and that was certainly not the sound of a dress rustling with it's owner's movements. 

Confusion shot through his mind. If it was not Kaialian, who was it? Without meaning to, he relaxed his guard as he tried to puzzle out who was approaching them, and the blade clutched in his fist sank lower, till it was held about waist height before him, the point of the blade angled towards the floor. 

He came back to himself quickly, though, and brought the blade back up, prepared to strike quickly once this strange threat was revealed. His muscles tensed, ready for action, as his sharp blue eyes remained focused on the corridor the sounds came from, straining for their first glimpse of the enemy. But the angle was wrong, and the most he could see was a distorted shadow that did not hold a form long enough to be identified. 

He shifted his grasp on the psuedo-knife, ready to throw it if he desired, then froze. Around the corner came a man. His gray eyes scanned the room, by-passing Legolas and Aragorn, looking for someone else. When he saw there was no one, he stepped out and raised his hands. 

"Greetings," he said, his voice low and rough, like he had not used it much or used it too often. "I come in peace." 

Legolas narrowed his eyes. "You'll leave in pieces if you don't explain yourself quickly. I have no time to play games." 

"No. No time," the man agreed. "I came to help you get out, though it appears you are doing quite well on your own." 

"Why would you help?" the elf asked suspicioiusly, quickly concluding this man had come from the village, though he could not remember seeing him. "Who are you?" 

"I am Jans," he offered, "and I did not agree with their decision to send you two in the stead of our own. I was outnumbered, and gave in. Buying my life with those of others makes me ill, and I desired to go and be done with it but the townsfolk disagreed. I let them. I wish to make it right." 

Legolas glanced down at Aragorn. He doubted things could ever be "right" again, but for his friend's sake, he had to try. The cavern shook, this time more violently than any of the others, and both Legolas and Jans were thrown off their feet as a couple good sized boulders fell from the ceiling to crash with the force of gravity into the floor. Pieces broke off with the impact and went flying across the room, some striking exposed skin and drawing blood. 

The elf drew himself up despite the heaving floor and looked at Aragorn. His head was swinging wildly from side to side, occassionally knocking backwards with particularly hard bounces. He reached out a hand to steady his friend, and was nearly thrown again when the floor heaved. 

Then, almost as if a switch had been turned, it stopped. He looked up, his suspicions that the caverns were coming down now dead certainty in his mind. Quite possibly, they had less time than he thought. Before he realized it, Jans had crossed the floor and appeared at his side. 

He glanced at him, disconcerted by how quickly and quietly the man had appeared, though part of that might have been because of the tremors. The man pulled a knife, and before Legolas could react--which was saying a lot--began cutting the ropes that held the young man in the chair. 

Deciding to take this newcomer at his word, Legolas silently thanked the Valar that, for once, things were going their way in this escape attempt. 

When the last rope snapped, the elf hauled the limp ranger onto his shoulders and braced him tightly. He hoped he was not aggravating any injuries his young friend had sustained, but could not be sure. 

He turned to Jans, aware that it had taken guts for the human to come up here, and painfully aware that few would have, even among his own, if the village had been elven instead of human. "Thank you," he murmured. 

The other nodded, his gaze traveling to Aragorn. "Don't thank me," he denied. "Your friend doesn't look too good." 

Legolas glanced over his shoulder. "I have to get him back to my father as quickly as possible." 

"Then you had best start now. Exit's that way." 

He inclined his head gratefully, then started in the indicated direction. Before the two made it, however, the exit was blocked. Legolas looked up. 

Kaialian had finally decided to come back. 


	15. Out of Darkness

Lol. Hey, all! This is posted late because I had to change part of the chapter. You know, mechanics. Had to add sentences so it made more sense, change sentences so they truly fit, delete ones that didn't, and rewrite a flashback because I didn't like the original. You know, little things. *g* 

**Bailey:** *grins widely and waves like a maniac* Hi! Giddy is always good. Lol. Didn't you review once before? For False Reality?** ***gasps* You're not saying my cliffies are worse than C&S's are you? *looks incredulous* Impossible. Though, just between you and me, their cliffies don't bother me anymore either. Hm, Jans. Yes, Jans is very.....interesting. *g* But that comes later. *looks incredibly pleased with self* Just killing him is what C&S would do, or at least what I imagine they would do, so I wonder what happens to him. . . . *stares off vaguely into the distnace* hehe. 

**Bill the Pony:** lol. Doom doom. Lol. More like boom boom, but not just yet. If you don't understand, you will next chapterish. *g* 

**Grumpy:** hehe, yes, gotta protect those hands so you can type. *g* Oh, so cliff-hangers are good now? I'll have to remember that. Hehe. *looks mock indignant* It's _always_ up to me. And this one doesn't get you any closer to finding out what happens with Legolas, so there. *sticks tongue out* lol. 

**Nell Marie:** That's okay, I'm just glad you haven't forgotten me. It's so lonely to be forgotten. *g* Oh, I'd say they could get into a little more trouble, at least. Unless you want to say they're already in it. *raises eyebrow* Deep thoughts. 

**NaughtNat:** Hm, I guess the beginning is a good place to start. *g* You're on time only because I'm late, but that's okay. I got lost at the "that much" part. How much is "that much"? *g* Oh, yes, I remember baby-sitting the relatives. I'm letting my brother baby-sit my nephew, I don't dare. Oh, don't speak of that! I'm still mad at her for that one. I _liked_ him. Lol. Of course. Hm, I think I actually did that on purpose because I forgot how to spell. Oops. Personally, I'd say Aragorn has the better deal: he's not feeling much of anything right now and Legolas actually has to _work _now. You mean other than LOTR? Oh, Chuck Norris movies, military movies, blood and guts gory movies..... Anything my dad watches on Sunday that I actually take the time to sit down for. Lol. I like watching the fight scenes, now if I could only get really good at writing them. . . . Hehe. Lol. Because.... *shakes head* I have no idea. I need more time to think about something like that and a lot of space to walk. My best ideas come when I'm walking and it ticks me off because I never have paper to write them down. Aw, helping little nephew. LOL. Yeah, there is that. I'm not sure I know any women like that either, and it's certainly not me. As if you couldn't tell that already. *grins impishly* 

All right, now, onto the chapter. Oh and, if anyone doesn't feel like they're getting enough cliffies, you're more than welcome to go over and read The Storm; they're still hanging on and it's the ninth chapter, about to become tenth. Hehe. 

Now, off to see the wizard. . . . (j/k, there isn't any Gandalf) Read, enjoy, and don't forget to review. *g*****

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**Chapter 15**

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**Out of Darkness**

Darkness swirled around Aragorn. Complete and total blankness which held no cares and no worries, no fear and no pain. He was alone and no longer ached, nor felt cold or hunger. Indeed, a pleasant warmth had suffused his body, and his mind floated in a sea of calm the likes of which he had never felt before and never wished to leave. 

He was where he was supposed to be, where he had always been meant to be, and nothing could bother him or harm him ever again. The fear and pain that had etched itself into his mind floated away, making him feel lighter than air and as carefree as a child. 

The young man smiled dreamily, his eyes closed, as he allowed himself to relax and sink even further into the comforting darkness that held him, soothed him, and washed away his bad memories. 

Briefly, he wondered where his family was, what they were doing and if they missed him, if they were as happy as he was now. _If they're not, they should be_, he thought muzzily, his thoughts hard to cling to in the pleasant darkness. _At least I cannot hurt them anymore,_ though he could not quite remember how he had hurt them in the first place. 

His smiled widened as he fleetingly remembered being afraid of the dark, afraid of being alone, but the thoughts did not last long as the darkness gently, subtly pried them away from him, encouraging him to let go and forget, and Aragorn could summon no strength nor desire to resist that advice, nor even a reason for doing so. He felt peaceful. 

_How could I have ever thought this was bad?_ he wondered idly, the floating feeling increasing, and it felt he was floating away, leaving everything behind, a feeling which probably would have worried him but which he only found vaguely interesting. 

"Because you could see," echoed suddenly through the darkness. 

_See?_ he mused, opening his eyes. _No, I can't see, what a silly thing to say._ Then the thought floated away and he watched it go, uncaring, the darkness whispering that he did not need to worry about a thing. 

Bereft of other concerns, his mind turned to his Elrond, with his warm blue eyes and hard face, softened by concern, then to his brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, identical in looks, the elder prone to guilt and the younger to mischief, though they switched from time to time and seemed to agree their adopted brother was the best target for the later and the most likely cause of the former; Legolas, with his golden blonde hair and bright blue eyes a shade or two lighter than his family's, a mischievous smile gracing his face as they plotted together. 

Pain started to intrude upon his thoughts, his nightmares beginning to crowd his mind. Then Arwen, too, floated before him, her expression solemn, nearly sad, and the pain became unbearable, twisting his insides and leaving him gasping for air. . . . But the pain did not last, coaxed away by the warm darkness, and he his thoughts stilled with nothing to latch onto. 

That voice, however, decided to make a reappearance, and before he could float farther away, spoke again. "And feel." 

_Feel?_ he thought, practically recoiling in terror as his mind associated _feeling_ with _pain_. He remembered what it was like to feel, what he had felt before the darkness took away all the pain and sorrow. He did not want to do that again. No, definitely not. No way he was going to feel again. 

But for all his denial, he felt the pain returning, vague pain that wiped the smile from his lips and gradually increased until it consumed his entire body and wrapped around his mind. The voice took no notice. "Much have you suffered, but much also have you gained." 

He wanted to ignore the voice, to keep floating and forget all the horrors in his past that sometimes returned to haunt him at night and steal his sleep. He wanted to forget, and the darkness was whispering, encouraging it . . . but another part of him resisted, whispering that had been in the dark, too, drawn instead to the strange voice that sought his attention and seemed vaguely familiar though he had never heard it before, and the more he thought about that voice, the less he felt like floating until he stood, fixed on solid ground, darkness still around him. 

Aragorn looked around, curious in spite of everything, but saw nothing, still the same dark void that had surrounded him the first time he opened his eyes. "Who are you?" he asked the darkness. 

As if in answer, a light appeared before him, so bright he wanted to squint against it but which did not hurt his eyes, surprising as he knew well what happened when bright lights shone after pitch black, and none of those experiences had been pleasant. The light expanded, until it was at least his size, then began to resolve into a different form. His eyes widened when he could make it out, for it was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, a golden glow seeming to emanate from her lithe form, pushing away the darkness that surrounded her. 

Graceful golden hair cascaded down her back in wavy streams, and he could just see the tips of pointed ears. Her skin looked soft and smooth dressed in a sparkling pure white raiment that reflected her own light in dazzling sparkles and moved with her perfectly, never making a sound. Her lips were full and slightly curved in welcome, but her eyes . . . her eyes were the most striking, the purest and brightest green he had ever seen which seemed to suck him in. He thought, for a moment, that he could stare at her forever, drowning in her eyes and never care for anything in the world. Then she laughed. 

"Drown not, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, for many would be saddened by your departure, though they know it not." 

_I wish I could say good-bye to them,_ the man thought before he even registered the emotion. 

He blinked, startled, and asked the first thing that came to mind. "Who are you?" 

"You may call me Hope," she answered. 

"Hope?" he echoed doubtfully. 

"The hope that resides in every man, woman, and child to be a light in the darkest of places and most dangerous situations. All too often, Men let that hope go out and give into despair. Then hope is lost." 

"I don't understand," he said. "How can you be hope?" 

Hope did not answer immediately, but merely watched him with piercing eyes that seemed to view everything. She said, "Every person seeks happiness and love, whether they are aware of it or not, instinctively doing what they think will win it for them. We all seek our own happiness and comfort, our own safety. It is a rare Man who forsakes his own care and well-being for the happiness and health of another, especially when they are different. You are a rare man, Aragorn." 

_She did not answer my question_, he thought, but it was distant, barely registered by his mind. 

He stared at her. The darkness that had gone silent started whispering again, working against her words. She was wrong. There was nothing special about him. His friends and family protected him, helped him, stayed with him because he was too weak and helpless to do it himself. 

~*~ 

The sun was up, shining in the clear blue sky, and had been that way for five hours. Five really long hours in which Estel had not been running through the house, had not been sprinting through the trees, had not been playing with the horses, bothering the cook, or getting into mischief, and he had certainly not been laughing. 

He had turned five years old the day before, March first, and had decided that, since he was a big boy now, he would get dressed all by himself. The servants had all been chased off by the very irate and insistent young boy and the door locked. The small group of people had simply shrugged and left; if their young charge did not want their help, they were certainly not going to make him. He was difficult enough to get dressed when he was not fighting them tooth and nail. Besides, he would call for them when he was ready to give up and ask for help. 

They underestimated the case terribly. 

After five hours of attempting to do alone what was normally accomplished in an hour, little Estel had managed to complete his bath--burning himself on the arm as he tried to heat the water, then dropping the bucket full of water on his toe and spilling it so he had to start all over, and slipping not once but twice so that his hands and bottom ached from his meeting with the floor. He had even gotten soap in his eyes and ruined his favorite picture book which had been in the bathroom and been soaked when he slipped and dumped a whole bucket of hot water onto it. He never wanted to take a bath again. 

He had, also, finally managed to find all the things he was supposed to put on. This was, of course, after much climbing and hunting through drawers he had never even really knew he had. Then, having found them, he was quite lost as to what to do next aside from that he was supposed to put them on. He tried to remember what the others had put on first and where, but he had never paid a whole lot of attention and there had been more than one pair of arms. 

He frowned, then picked up a likely enough looking piece and began trying to put it on. It would not fit over his head, and when he pit it on his arm, it would not go any further, then slipped off. He tried his leg this time, but had just as little success, and decided to try something else. He went on in this way for a long time, picking up and discarding piece after piece until he had managed to attach every single one in some way. 

With that finished, Estel went to look in his mirror, pleased with his accomplishment. Pleased, that was, until he caught sight of his reflection. He scowled darkly at the image, which looked nothing like it did when the servants had finished dressing him and jumped down from the foot of his bed. He could never do anything right. 

At that moment, he heard a jiggling in the lock on the door and turned just in time to see Elladan and Elrohir enter, curious expressions of their identical faces. "Estel, what--" began Elladan, but cut off abruptly when he caught sight of the young human, whose clothes were all put on wrong. A smile pulled at his lips, an identical one mirroring it on Elrohir's face. Estel stopped smiling, though, when they started laughing. 

He was the most pathetic thing they had ever seen, could not even dress himself. Estel scowled and looked down, desperate not to cry and show them he was an even bigger baby than they already thought. He began irritably pulling at his clothes, which decided to annoy him by not coming off. 

"Oh, Estel!" Elrohir exclaimed, picking him up and placing him on the bed. "Why couldn't you just let them help?" 

Elladan added, "Little boys can't do this all by themselves. It takes years to learn to do properly." They began to easily strip him of his ill-assembled clothing. Estel never said a word, merely shrugged as a garment was pulled off over his head. 

He tried to move his arm away from their sight so they could not see the burn, but Elladan was too fast. "Ai, Estel! What happened to your arm?" 

"Burned it," he mumbled softly, but not too softly for elven ears. 

The twins's eyes widened. "You tried to heat the water, too?" Elrohir demanded. 

He nodded, still looking down at his feet. 

"That was a foolish thing to do," Elladan scolded harshly. "You're too young to do any such thing, and too small. Those buckets are heavy, Estel! Ai! What were you thinking?" 

Estel sniffed back tears as Elrohir began putting his clothes on right, pulling a shirt on over his head, and he did not answer. Neither elf seemed to care, merely pulling on his undergarment then his pants and pulled him down to put on his shoes. 

"Now Ada will have to treat your arm. You should be more careful, Estel." 

Silently, the youth followed them out of the room, feeling terrible. Not only had he failed, but he was too weak to succeed. And worse, his brothers knew it, and they were going to tell Ada. 

~*~ 

Sometime as the nearly forgotten memory passed through his mind, he had dropped his gaze to study his hands which he had been playing with idly. Now, though, he looked back up. 

"Unusual for a child of five to focus on a single task for so long. Six hours is a long time." 

"A long time to fail," he responded disconsolately. "Most would have realized they couldn't do it and admitted defeat." He wondered why that memory hurt so much when it was so long ago. 

"It's a mark of your character," she countered calmly, "that you do not quit no matter how difficult the task may seem. Not many could overcome more than a dozen Men in the face of exhaustion, yet you have done so. Most would have faltered." 

He snorted, some distant part of his mind wondering why he answered, why he found fault with that statement, why she was speaking to him at all. "I did. My brothers had to come and save me." 

"Most would have been dead before they arrived." She regarded him closely for a long moment. "Perhaps some messages are best received when shown rather than heard." 

He blinked, then blinked again as a multitude of shining white dots began to coalesce around him, lightening his surroundings until he was surrounded by white which flared into a single presence before melting once more into his bedroom, though this time it was not a memory, or at least not his memory. 

The toys which had been scattered around the room had been removed, replaced with odd trinkets picked up here and there or simply left empty until some other object was chosen to fill the space. It looked remarkably like it would have if he had simply stood up and gone home, but if he had to guess, he would say this had occured--whatever this was--several years ago. 

Three beings clustered in chairs around a bed where a fourth lay. With a kind of distant jolt, he realized it was him, and curiously moved closer, trying to place the incident in his mind. The Aragorn on the bed was pale, emphasizing the dark circles under eyes, and multiple bandages wrapped around his torso, legs, arms, and head. Looking at it, it was a surprise to him that he still lived. 

Apparently, it was a surprise shared by the elves who watched him, as well, for they looked shaken and relieved. Legolas sat nearest the head of the bed, one of his hands clutching one of Aragorn's, his posture revealing a bandage wrapped around his arm and there were probably others he could not see, his expression pensive. His bearing almost suggested he feared that if he let go, Aragorn would not be there when he returned. 

Elladan and Elrohir sat further down, looking worriedly between the two friends, dark circles tracing their own eyes. "Ada said he should be all right, now," Elladan said as if trying to convince himself of that as much as Legolas, sounding as tired as he looked. 

Elrohir nodded. "He says he's out of the woods, finally. It's only a matter of time before he's fully recovered and ready to drive us crazy again." Interestingly to Aragorn, he looked happy about this little announcement. 

"Things are too quiet around here without our little brother," Elladan agreed, his blue eyes never leaving the still form before him, unless it was to glance quickly at the equally still form of Legolas right next to him. 

"It's never quiet around here," Legolas denied, though he still had not moved. 

"But it's not the same." 

Legolas finally looked back at them. "You love him, don't you." 

"As do you," Elladan observed, and Aragorn realized it was an incident that had happened near the beginning of his friendship with Legolas, during a patrol that took them near the Misty Mountains. He remembered waking up sore and not just a little woozy. He had been told he lost a lot of blood. 

Legolas smiled as he looked back down at the human before him, his thumb tracing idle patterns on the back of Aragorn's hand, still clutched in his own. "I never expected to," he admitted. "Especially to a silly little Adan who can't stay out of trouble, but I wouldn't have it any other way." Aragorn got the feeling that Legolas was remembering a fond adventure, as his expression went distant and his smile softer, dreamier. "He grows on you," the light haired elf admitted after several moments. "It's impossible not to love him." 

"Aye," Elrohir chuckled slightly. "Now if only we could convince the Orcs of that, you two wouldn't get into so much trouble." The other two smiled. 

"Somehow, I don't think they would be willing to see it our way," Legolas answered wryly. 

"They're not smart enough," Elladan agreed. 

"Besides," Elrohir interjected with a nearly wicked expression, apparently seeing the folly of his suggestion. "If the Orcs stopped harassing this duo, someone else would start, and then they'd _really_ be in a fix." 

The twins laughed and Legolas glared at them, obviously wishing they were closer so he could shove them or hit them. Then Elladan stood, stretching slightly. "I'm going to go see how Ada is. Make sure he eats something." Legolas nodded. 

Elrohir stood as well. "I'll go with him, then we'll be able to bring something up for you to eat. Valar knows it would be worse than useless for us to try and convince you to leave Aragorn's side until he wakes up and begins, once again, insisting that he's 'fine'." 

"Even though we know he's not," Elladan added, over Legolas' soft chuckle. 

"And you're as bad as he is, you know," Elrohir concluded as they reached the door. "A perfect pair. No wonder all of Arda trembles when you two go out together." 

"Oh, hush," Legolas grumbled when the twins burst out in laughter, not looking the least bit put out despite his scowl. 

Still grinning, the twins trooped out. Then Elrohir poked his head back in. "Oh, Legolas? Try to get some sleep yourself while you're at it. That's a good dear." Legolas laughed slightly, unable to help himself. 

Aragorn watched Elrohir disappear before Legolas could offer a retort, chuckling softly. Then the elf prince leaned forward, all signs of amusement gone, his attention back on the sleeping man before him, and pushed back some of Aragorn's dark tresses which had fallen in his face. With that done, he placed his right hand over the man's heart, feeling the steady beat beneath his fingers. His eyes slowly drifted closed before opening again. 

"I thought I'd lost you," he murmured. "When you darted in front of me, and I saw that Orc blade descending, I thought it was over, that you were gone before I really got the chance to know you. You were so still and pale. . . . I thought you were dead, Aragorn. I thought you were dead and that I had lost my best friend, that I would never see you again and that it was too soon. Reckless human." 

Tears slipped down the elf's cheeks and he wiped at them with his free hand. "Why did you have to go and do that? Put yourself before me? What if you had died? I could never have lived with myself, knowing you were dead because of me, had died too soon because of me; your already short life cut even shorter because you had to save me. And I was left alive, but you were gone," the elf whispered, his voice rasping slightly as he studied the still form before him, "and I could never see you again. I care for you too much to let my life be the cost of your own, so don't you dare do that again. You hear me? Don't do it again. I couldn't stand it." He closed his eyes again and took an unsteady breath, letting out slowly. 

Aragorn stood, shocked, not sure what to do or say, only belatedly realizing this had, in fact, already happened and that there was nothing he _could_ do or say. He wondered why his friend had never spoken those words aloud, never voiced them once he had woken up. Over-bright eyes turned to the still glowing figure beside him, speechless, hoping (though he knew not why) that she could provide the answers he sought. 

"Your friends care deeply for you, Aragorn," she told him, her voice as musical as ever. "They have never thought you a burden, no more so than you have ever considered them so, though they hate appearing weak just as much as you do, if not more. Elves have their pride, you know. It is the nature of love to view the strong and the weak, good and bad, through the same lens, and make neither less for the difference of the experience." 

She smiled softly. "Love is blind, Aragorn. It sees not weakness, only strength." 

Then the room faded away, and the last thing he saw was Legolas, asleep near the sleeping Aragorn, hand still resting over the still figure's heart, a position he himself had sat in multiple times over the years, and felt a longing to be back in that time when he was not troubled by dark dreams. Then the formless black replaced his room, and Hope's glow drew his gaze. The darkness began whispering again, almost as soon as the image faded. 

_You don't know that. You were asleep. They could have said anything or not even been there at all._ But Aragorn distinctly remembered waking up, a slight weight on his chest, to find Legolas fast asleep beside him, a tray of mostly untouched food placed nearby, and the twins--also asleep--sprawled across the two armchairs that made rounds of the house whenever one of them was injured and brought to Rivendell. 

The voices changed tactics. _That was years ago. So much has happened since then. Things change. Love fades. They don't love you like they used to. Too much has happened since then. Stay here, relax. No worries. You could never have been king. They would just be disappointed by you, like they were when you decided against their wishes. . . . _

~*~ 

He left. 

He had had to leave. He could not bare the silent pain and condemnation any longer, the disappointment that showed in his father's eyes every time he saw the young human. He could not stand to be confined to an area that brought him nothing but discomfort and his family nothing but shame. 

He rode quickly through the trees down the road, sitting straight in his saddle as his cloak billowed behind him, and ignoring the pain in his shoulder, an ache that was harsh enough that he could not forget it, but weak enough that it did not hinder his riding. He had to get as far away from Rivendell as he could before the sunset. The closer he was to his home, the more likely it was that his brothers would find him. 

It had started as a simple hunting trip, an excursion among brothers to pass the time and relieve boredom before he left to attend to other duties, and had ended in disaster. They had met more trouble than they had expected (which was not much as they had expected none) and he had bungled it, creating a mess that nearly got them killed. Thinking to make it up to his brothers, he had gone after them, the orcs. That had been a mistake, a mistake that had nearly cost his brothers their lives. 

He could still hear their angry words, echoing through his mind like the ringing of a smith's hammer on unyielding anvil. He had been foolish, stupid, why could not he listen to them, they were older and wiser and had more experience. He needed to listen. He had not. 

Now he rode, anxious to escape the condemnation of their words, though the twins had spoken naught to him since they had returned, and the silence pressed heavier against him than their words could have. 

He rode until the sun faded from the sky and night fell over the lands, then made camp. Long into the night he stared down the road that led back home, listening intently for footsteps or the clip-clop of horse hooves down the packed path, and heard nothing. He told himself that he listened only for the approach of his brothers so he could leave if they tried to approach. 

Pain of a different sort engulfed his heart when morning arrived and he had heard naught. No one had come after him. 

~*~ 

He looked at Hope, and saw that her eyes were half-lidded, almost as if she was viewing the memory with him. "They didn't come after me," he murmured, sounding quite young. "They didn't tell me everything was alright, that I was wrong and I didn't have to. . . ." 

She looked up. "The folly of all is to jump to conclusions with only half the information available to one. What you did not see, in your haste, was that Elrond had passed to you the rights of manhood: the ability to make your own decisions and live with the consequences. It was a great gift for one so young." 

"It did not feel like a gift," he mumbled, remembering that he had stayed away for nearly two years and only returned when Legolas dragged him back home, unconscious and gravely wounded. He not been injured, he likely would not have returned home at all, merely wandering the wilds and learning more of his responsibilities among his kin. 

She smiled softly. "No, I imagine not. But they love you and want what is best for you and for all of Middle-earth." 

"So they make me feel unloved." The words came out bitter, and he could not remember speaking them, was not entirely sure he meant them, but knew he could not take them back. Somewhere deep inside, he did mean them, felt them. 

Again, she simply stared at him, taking his measure. Her gaze reminded him of the Lady Galadriel, standing before her as she viewed his thoughts or feelings, spoke directly to his mind. It was unnerving, and yet comforting at the same time. Bemused, he wondered what that made him: crazy or psychotic? 

"Do you know where you are going?" she asked suddenly. 

He refocused on her face, her eyes, returning from his inner musings. "Where I'm going?" he repeated stupidly. 

Hope smiled. "The path you now tread leads to death, though it is hidden from your sight." But even as she said the words, the darkness parted and a barren trail seemed to appear beneath his feet, passing beneath her own and continuing into the distance past him. "The Darkness calls, ever eager to lure people into its depths, to their ruin, and the ruin of all." 

Now she really sounded like Lady Galadriel, and he was so confused. The last thing he wanted was to hurt his friends and family, but he also could not stand to be responsible for their deaths. "I don't know what to do," he admitted. 

"You must do what you think is right." 

Silver eyes searched her own, nearly pleading in their intensity. "Can't you tell me?" 

He waited, but she did not answer immediately, her gaze distant. When she did speak, it was with the air of someone trying to describe a picture only they could see, lacking the true words to express what hovered before their eyes. "At this moment, your path is here, your choices are to continue on as you have to death or go back the way you came and find a different path, let your journey continue. What the right choice is, only you know." 

That, horribly, made a lot of sense. Too bad it was not what he wanted to hear. His choice, that meant if people died, it was his fault. "What of my destiny?" he decided to ask instead. 

"That is for you to decide. I can show you the path, but only you can choose which to walk." 

This conversation was beginning to sound familiar, much to the ranger's annoyance. Aragorn thought he remembered hearing similar words from his father when they had discussed his heritage, and from Lady Galadriel when he told her he did not think he was good enough to be king. And had not even Kalya mentioned something of similar vein, about it being his own choice? 

He hesitated a moment, then decided to speak of what most heavily weighed on his mind, hoping that speaking of it to someone who was outside the situation would be able to shed more light on the matter. "I had a dream where I watched a dark opponent fight my friend, ultimately slaying him. He took terrible joy in ending the life, and in the end I found out it was me." He paused to see her reaction, but her expression did not change. He pressed on. "If I go back, will that happen?" 

Again, he got the feeling he was being measured, and it was starting to frustrate him. Could she not just speak? "Sight was gifted to the chosen of your people, and a measure of that gift has been passed to you. What you saw is but one path of the future, a path wherein you failed and power consumed you." Her eyes closed briefly. "You may never walk that path." 

"And if I do? How could I live with myself?" he demanded, fear driving him to approach her, though he veered away and turned back before assuming a position very similar to the one he had held before. "How?" 

"You would choose, then, to end your life?" she questioned. 

He frowned, determined. "Better than ending his life as a servant to Darkness," he declared. 

For some reason, that response pleased her, as she smiled. "Your loyalty to your friends does you credit, but beware seeking death to avoid Darkness, for death is the favorite path of that which you seek to avoid. Where there is life, there is hope, and only where there is life, for fortune is ever changing and the seeds of time alter many things. Only death erases hope and Darkness claims another victory, especially if the one who died was one who would resist." 

"But if the one who died would aid Darkness . . . ?" 

"Free choice is a gift, the ability to choose for good or ill. Careful ere you decide what warrants death lest you learn too late the alternative is worse." 

Exactly what that meant, he did not care to ponder, but he had a feeling she would not explain it more clearly if he asked. That sounded to him like a question his father would respond with _"Time will reveal all things. When you are ready, you will understand," _and would need to be pondered by himself alone, which he did not feel like doing. He did not really wish to hear that from her, as well. He studied her a moment, then decided to take one last gamble. "You cannot tell me what to choose. Could you counsel me on a path?" 

She smiled. "I already have." For a beat, there was silence. He frowned as he tried to remember when she had done as she said, then she continued before he could decide. "Darkness ever seeks to control, light leaves the choice to you. Each must decide to hope, or despair." 

He looked at her keenly, but she faded away, much as she had appeared. Once more, he was left alone. But now, he was out of the darkness, could see what lay around him, the path he must choose before him, or behind him. Silver eyes looked both ways, searching for a hint of what was to come on each, a clue which might help him decide. More images flashed before his eyes. 

_"Do not leave, my friend. Do not let go."_

In the end, it was the memories that played in his mind, the truth he found within that helped him decide. With a last glance around, he choose his path and started walking. 


	16. Never So Easy

Hi, everyone! It's that time again, isn't it. I'm slightly ticked, too; I was supposed to go see Matrix Revolutions with my brother and he's stuck baby-sitting my nephew. *pouts* The good news is that I have your reviews to keep me company. *smiles brightly* How pathetic does that sound? Quite pathetic, but maybe I can manage, while I'm bored, to write more of the sequel to this story. It's _still_ not cooperating. *pouts again* But anyway, I hope this chapter doesn't get confusing. I hope I haven't forgotten anything, or let it out, or committed some similar offense. And we're getting so near the end, only four chapters left. And I have to go through and reread them to insure I included all the injuries. It's so easy to forget the little ones. Aragorn and Legolas ignore them so well, you don't even know they have them. *g* 

**Grumpy:** You mean Elrond's reaction? Or how he looked? I'm confused. But I'm glad you liked it. And I hope Aragorn took the right path, too. Legolas would be terribly crushed if he didn't. Speaking of which. . . . *gets horrible evil gleam in her eye* 

**Deana:** Legolas wasn't expecting it either. *g* Hm, yes, it probably is, but you know those elves. Stubborn creatures. And he has other things to worry about. 

**Bill the Pony: **LOL. Mm, yes, he does at that doesn't it. He deserves it, though, if no one else does. And without the side effects of normal, um, hallucinogens? Which drug group am I looking for? *considers for a moment* Ah, well. Boom, boom, boom, Boom. *g* 

**Corivida:** Um, thanks. Erm, yeah, I'll think about it. As if I'm not already busy writing as it is. 

**NaughtyNat:** You are! Congratulations. Lol. *g* I might be done posting by that time, you know. Em, well, maybe not. Depends on how long "a bit" is. *pauses to try and see the reference* Ah, well. *grins sheepishly* That might have had an influence. I've seen both the real version and the Disney version, after all. But I wasn't thinking about it when I wrote it. What was I thinking about...? Oh, yes, I had just finished reading Tuesdays With Morrie. Touching book. But I don't think that had anything to do with this chapter. It wasn't intentional. I picture it being slightly more difficult to get dressed back then. I mean, they can't just pull up stretchy pants and slip a t-shirt over their head and be done. *g* Of course, I'm also going on the idea that the mode of dress is somewhat similar to the...1800s? Is that the time period I'm looking for? 1700s. Something like that. But maybe that's just me. Anyway, as best I can remember, I think I still had help getting dressed when I was five, for all that I didn't want the help. *g* lol. Yes, now he knows and the world will never be the same. Hopefully. 

**Lauren:** I need to get better about checking my mail. I'm so sorry I missed you last chapter. *hits head* But I completely understand the Matrix thing. I can picture it too! Lol. I'm glad my flashbacks work. They're so much fun to write and lend so much more to the emotion of the story than I can get by staying in the moment. English, ick; psyche, yikes. Hope you managed both. I understand completely. *grins like a cheshire cat* I'm glad I could return the favor. And don't worry about rambling. I love rambling, it lets me feel like I'm connected to other people. I write so much my social life is practically nonexistent, then I don't particularly care for the people in my classes. They just don't understand. Ramble all you like. *smiles* I'm glad the scene with Legolas by his bedside was so good, even more so that you liked. 

Okay, now, hopefully, this chapter doesn't fall short of the awesome standards of its predecessors. You know, every time I watch Matrix, I begin using really big words. Strange. Not that I've watched it recently, but. . . . Hehe. Okay, I won't ramble any more and release you to the fic. 

Read. Enjoy and review. =D****

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**Chapter 16**

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**Never So Easy**

She sat in her study, a room decorated with lavish silks and colorful, rich cushions which were scattered around the room creating a decadent appeal to anyone who desired the easy life. A book rested in her lap, thick with fraying pages, opened to about the middle. Nothing it said was new to her. She had read it years ago. 

Just hours before she had been ecstatic, awash in the delicious agony of her new . . . specimens, and fine specimens they were, too. Now, though, she desired nothing more than to go out and look at them, touch them . . . play with them. The ranger, maybe not, but the elf. . . . There was so much more she could do with him, and he would be so much more resilient than his friend. 

Effortlessly, she stood, leaving the book where it was, and walked out, some instinct she never questioned prompting her to pick up her ceremonial dagger. When the cold hilt of the instrument encountered her hand, she did not ever realize it, nor did she notice the glint of the item in her hand. The book continued to lay open where she left it. 

Staring at the ceiling, for one's eyes only, was: 

The Jade's Pendant, a rare necklace enchanted by a powerful sorcerer centuries ago and gifted to the powerful rulers of Men for large rewards as they sought out the eternal life of the Eldar. Most were destroyed, but a few remained, possessed by their creator to be gifted to the unwary. The wearer of the necklace was granted eternal life, but cursed to live the rest of eternity never satisfied, stuck forever with their darkest memory and never able to release it. 

Each necklace has no clasp, and once adorned, can never be removed, save by death. The wearer is granted eternal life free from sickness, like the Eldar, but can be killed. If, in the course of time, the necklace is destroyed, the necklace's owner suffers the same fate. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Legolas stared into the vibrant eyes of Kaialian as her expression changed from vague, to shocked, to furious, the latter coming so quickly he had not even seen the change. The elf, himself, felt curiously detached, almost as if he had known she would come. Jans, beside him, stiffened. 

They had been about to walk around the chair and head for the exit, when she had appeared out of nowhere, resplendent in her terrible beauty. She did not block the exit, though, there was nothing stopping them from escaping her forever. 

Jans reached the conclusion first. "Go. Take your friend. I'll join you after I have a little chat with our fair lady." 

The elf prince glanced quickly at the man, recognizing immediately that it would be useless, less than useless, to try and talk him out of the path he had chosen. He could not even begin to imagine what she had done to make Jans hate her so, but looking at Aragorn, still limp in his arms, he understood the sentiment, even agreed with it wholeheartedly. 

He nodded curtly, then began crossing the cavern quickly, doing his best not to jolt his charge too roughly or cause him any pain, which meant trying to glide across the uneven, rocky ground which was littered with fallen stones and boulders. He went around the big ones he could not overstep. 

Behind him, he heard movement, the sounds of footsteps, light and quick. Curiosity overcame him, and Legolas turned to look behind him. His sharp eyes found Jans and Kaialian moving towards each other, each holding a dagger whose blade reflected the distant light of the torches. He could almost swear they were talking, but no words traveled to his ears. 

He frowned, trying to puzzle out how that could be, since elven ears were far above mortal hearing, but he found no answer. They simply could not be talking. He turned and began walking again; Aragorn needed help he could not give him. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Jans faced the woman he had spent his entire life hating, though he had never met her. His gray eyes traveled up and down her body, taking in her beauty: long golden hair, vibrant eyes. But she did not seem beautiful to him, to him she was a monster, and the youthful looks she claimed a mask. Too him, she looked old. 

With a grim smile, he pulled out the dagger he kept strapped to his thigh. When he had left the village, he had not gathered any supplies, had not warned anybody, had not taken the time to go back and grab weapons. The only plan he had was to free the strangers and kill the witch. That was exactly what he was going to do. Now. She had done too much to his family, to his friends, to be allowed to go on. 

His eyes flashed with determination and his jaw clenched. He was going to kill her, or die trying. 

A small smile appeared on her face, a taunt if ever he saw one, as if she knew what he was thinking and was daring him to try, like she knew he could not succeed. He ignored it. Adrenaline shot through his veins, sending heat through his body. He clenched and unclenched his free fist, then began stalking towards her, moving slightly to the side to take her attention away from the fleeing elf. 

Just like he wanted, her eyes followed. His lips twisted. "Hello, witch. I've been wanting to talk to you." 

Her hazel eyes flashed. "Have you, now?" she replied coyly, the anger gone as quickly as it had appeared, and replaced with something far more sinister. Though the man could not place his finger on what it was, the change still sent unpleasant tingles up his spine. "But you see? I don't just want to talk, I want to play." 

He approached her slowly, his body tensed for action as if he was simply out hunting deer. "I don't play, witch," he told her. 

"Oh," she murmured, still coming closer to him, her own approach casual, her voice full of childish glee. "I see. You've been left out. You've been abandoned. No one wants to play with you." 

His eyes narrowed, but she was not done. "A nice, big, strong man, like yourself, over-looked year after year; left to watch his friends chosen one by one, brought into this place and lost forever, never to be seen again." Her eyes glowed brighter. "Big strong man wants to know why he was never chosen," she said in a pouty voice that was as disturbing as it was annoying. 

Jans said nothing. Every sound she made wrenched his hatred higher, his blood boiling higher with every syllable that passed her full lips. It never occurred to him to wonder how she guessed so much about his past, or that she might have _known_ that about his past. It certainly never occurred to him that she might have _planned_ it. He did not know why with every word she uttered, her eyes continued to glow brighter, until they seemed to be their own light source. He just knew he wanted her dead, and he wanted it now. 

But he was still a hunter, and a hunter is patient. His footsteps, light and steady, sounded in the momentary stillness. She stood just twelve feet before him, but it was still too far. Just a few more seconds. . . . 

"It's because your different, special. You care more for others than yourself. Your pain when they are taken, your anger at your own helplessness is far more delicious than any pain I could inflict on you. More filling." Her smile was feral. "Yes, you were of more use to me alive." 

He narrowed his eyes, struggling to get his mind to work again, to push away the rage and think rationally like he was known for, how he had kept the village alive, why the people looked up to him. But he could not. The rage kept building, and he kept staring into her glowing eyes. 

Finally, he registered what she had said. _Were_. His eyes widened. In that moment, she pounced. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Outside, the sky lowered, ominous dark clouds rolled across the sky, blotting out the sun from even the keenest eyes, bringing night early to the forests of Mirkwood. Through the trees, the wind howled, cold and biting in its restless fury. Trees groaned under the assault, leaves swished, lashed here and there in the relentless rush. 

Under the trees, all looked up. All manner of woodland creature, from the tiniest insect to the largest animal, took shelter against the coming storm, unnatural in its quick fury. They ran to caves, they hid in burrows, anywhere to get away from the deepening darkness, then all was still save for the rush of the wind and the occasional deep rumble of thunder. 

The maidens of the village by the mountain looked up, halting their daily chores. Thunder boomed, loud and near, threatening. Baskets were dropped as children were gathered and the inhabitants rushed to get in side, the more steady-headed lashing down anything that could be tossed through their windows. Within minutes, no one moved. 

Leagues away, a troop of wood-elves halted, their keen eyes spotting the gathering darkness despite the trees. In silence, they regarded the gathering darkness, unease coiling in the pits of their stomachs, a certain dread weighing down their hearts. A gust of wind wound through the trees near them, bringing whispers, whispers of doom. None, not even the horses, stirred. 

"What does it mean?" one of the number finally asked. 

The captain turned back, his expression grim. "Trouble." 

The one beside him nodded solemnly. "Aye, and I'll give you three guesses as to who's right in the middle of it." 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Kaialian swung hard, her dagger cutting through the air with a sharp, eerie, whistling rush. It met her opponent's dagger with a sharp _chink_ that echoed through out the crumbling cavern. Rocks were littered about her feet, but she paid them no more mind than the man before her did. In him, in his eyes, she could see her husband, her son, the same arrogance and irresponsible disregard for any but themselves in his hard gray eyes. 

She could see his anger, his hatred, and it fueled her own, gave her power. Her necklace began to glow, burning brighter than it ever had before, making her stronger, giving her speed. Before her stood her husband, the traitor who left her so many years ago to make her way through the world alone, who abandoned her to fight his silly battles, who led her son away to follow him in death. 

Before her stood everything she had ever hated about men. And she would kill him. Nothing, _no one_, was going to stop her. 

Their short blades were blurs in the flickering light of the torches, casting dancing shadows around the dancing figures. Every strike was parried, every jab deterred. The ringing of metal on metal reverberated through the air. 

Everything disappeared except the man standing before her and the blade she was trying to stab through his heart. Nothing except that mattered. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Legolas walked with Aragorn thrown over his shoulder, head down, watching the path he tread closely. The ground was so uneven that even he had to watch where he was going lest he risk falling and harming his friend even more than he was already. 

But it wasn't just that. He was retreating. He was leaving an ally behind to fight while he turned the other way and ran. Never mind that he was saving a life, his friend; never mind that it was necessary and he had been forced to do it before. Never mind any of it, because it still came down to one thing: the one who had hurt his friend was being fought by another other than him. 

The very thought grated on his nerves and threatened to halt his footsteps right where he stood, turn, and run back to join the fight with Jans. It did not help that he had no idea how skilled the human was, nor how skilled the woman was, and the quick clash of blades behind him did nothing to comfort him. 

Only the knowledge that he held his best friend in his arms and that he was unresponsive but alive, yet alive, kept the elf prince from dropping the young ranger to the ground and running back to join in the fight. 

It didn't seem to matter how many people hurt his friend, or how often it happened, but each time he was sure he could not hate anyone more than he did them, and each time he was proven wrong. Legolas hated, at this moment, a woman named Kaialian more than any other he knew. Etiquette demanded he not strike a lady, but he would give just about anything to do just that. He was sure that one was no lady, no matter what guise she came in. 

Determined, he placed one foot in front of the other, gritting his teeth when he heard someone behind him slip. He resisted the urge to turn and see who it was. He had a task; he had to get Aragorn to help. 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then glanced at the figure he held securely on his shoulder. He tried to catch a glimpse of the man's face, but his hair obscured it, and it did not help that he had to look over his shoulder to try, and his friend's legs were clasped securely by his arms. 

Suddenly, the ground jerked beneath his feet, seeming to slid first one way, then the other. It was a distinctly unnerving feeling to be walking along just fine, then to find the floor you had been counting on for support had betrayed you and was doing its best to drop you on your rear. 

He stumbled, taking a quick step forward, then back, as the rocks around him trembled, and more tumbled to the ground. Aragorn's weight shifted, threatening to send him falling to the ground, but elves are not able to run through trees for nothing and he retained his feet, compensating for the motion of his friend and the trembling rock beneath his feet with sure grace. 

A sharp cry was nearly swallowed in the rumbling roar of shifting stone, but Legolas heard it. It was too deep to be a woman's, and that left only Jans. The elf feared the man had lost his balance with that cry, but he knew nothing of the woman. More than anything he wanted to turn and find out what was happening, but if he removed his attention from the stone beneath his feet, he would fall and Aragorn with him. 

Stepping quickly, momentarily foregoing forward motion in favor of remaining standing, Legolas danced on top of the shifting stone, Aragorn's head lolling listlessly against his back with every movement, his hands swaying and occasionally hitting his back. Then, just as quickly as it had begun, it was over. 

Immediately, Legolas turned to look behind him. What he saw made his heart freeze. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

She swung her dagger, splitting the air above the man's head as he ducked quickly, his own blade held defensively before him. A grin split her face. It had been a long time since she had had this much fun. Maybe she should have let one of her other specimens escape to fight her. She would have enjoyed the challenge. He could have held hope for escape, and she could have had the pleasure of watching that hope die and fade from his eyes. It was actually a far more pleasing prospect than she would have imagined. She would have to remember it for next time. 

A blade arched towards her, angling for her heart, and she knocked it away. He recovered quickly, and reversed his swing, coming at her again from a different angle. She knocked that one away, too, familiar with it, as it had been one of her husband's favorite moves. Nimbly, she jumped out of his way, and saw frustration build in his eyes. 

Men hated being bested, hated to have their skill shone up, especially by a woman. Her smile grew wider as she reveled in this one's hatred and distaste, his abhorrence that he was failing against a pathetic woman, one of lesser status and ability than him, one who was subordinate to him. She could see it, all those thoughts that had condemned her to this life by making her husband foolishly believe it was his duty to protect her. She could have protected herself, but he would not see it. He paid for his mistake with his life, and now she would exact her due for an eternity. 

Kaialian laughed, the sound swallowed by the air around her, though the darkening anger in the other's gray eyes said he had heard it. He lunged, and she dodged, his momentum carrying him forward and past her. Smiling, she clipped him along his cheek with her blade. 

He crashed into the wall and turned. In a blind rage, he rushed her again. She sidestepped to the other side and clipped that cheek, as well. Matching streaks adorned both sides of his face and dripped down to his neck. Near madness danced in his eyes, a token of the necklace that she had always particularly enjoyed: that it stole rational thought from those who faced her. This man had not a chance. 

She laughed again, and he started to charge her a third time. But then, something happened that neither combatant had expected: the ground shook, the walls trembled, and dust and loose pebbles, then larger rocks, tumbled down from the ceiling. She paused, staring around her in shock. 

The shaking grew worse, and she struggled to keep her feet, staggering first one way and then the other in her efforts to remain standing. The man, too, staggered around, looking quite drunk, and her mind whispered that he probably drank whenever he could. Her anger towards him redoubled, turning her attention from the rocks, and her other fleeing prisoners. They would not get far, she was sure. The ranger would slow the elf down, and this one would not trouble her much longer. 

She tried to move towards him, but the bucking ground resisted her efforts, and she stumbled away from him, and him from her. No matter, she could wait. 

It was with a sense of unreality that she watched a fist-sized chunk of rock drop from the ceiling right above where the man stood. It fell straight, and the ground betrayed him by not forcing him to move from its path. The projectile landed, striking forcefully just at his temple, driving the man to the ground. He sprawled on his back, grunting in pain from more than just the blow to his head. Dozens of rocks of all sizes made up his impromptu bed, and her heart fluttered with glee at the knowledge of how much that must have hurt to wrench a cry from the stubbornly silent man. 

She grinned hungrily, and once again tried to move closer to him, and this time she managed, the space between them vanishing slowly as she inched forward, inch by precious inch. 

Then, quite as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. The cavern she stood in no longer seemed to desire to shake itself apart and land on the heads of everyone inside. She cared not. The only thing that mattered now was ending this human's pathetic life. 

She paused at his feet and looked down on him, her expression feral. Somewhat blearily, he looked up at her, his expression mostly blank. But his eyes, those infernal gray eyes that were so close to her husband's, showed no fear, only steady resolve and bitter hatred. She looked closer, and could almost swear she caught a trace of what looked suspiciously like pity, though the man was likely not aware of it. 

She still cared not. 

Holding her blade at the ready, cocked back near her ear, she smiled down on him confidently. "Prepare for the end, pathetic Man. You are all the same, worthless creatures, and you have earned your end here. Foolish pride; foolish bravery. My husband had them, too. Say 'hello' to him for me when you join him." 

He stared up at her steadily, a certain satisfaction visible in his eyes. "I need not," he replied. "You shall tell him yourself when you join him." 

"I will never, foolish mortal. I am above you; you should have bowed to me and worshiped my every move. All Men should, but no matter. You will die and join my scum-bag mate, the one that abandoned me in search of glory. You are just like him." 

That said, she moved forward to strike. 

Her blow never fell. A projectile streaked in from somewhere before her, hitting her neck and sending blinding agony through Kaialian. She screamed, writhing as heat traveled through her, expanding and seeping through her body. A green light leeched out, growing wider and wider. 

The human stared up at her with wide eyes, but she did not need to see his reaction to know what was happening, she already knew. Too late, she realized the elf was not as far away as she had thought. Too late, she realized what that projectile was. Too late, she knew that she had underestimated the elf. Too late. 

She stumbled backwards, fire shooting up her body. Liquid oozed out of her necklace, burning her in its slow passage down her body. Pain followed the fire as she aged quickly, the jewel's effects undone with its destruction. The stone had shattered her necklace. 

They had won. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Legolas reacted immediately, bending over before he even fully registered what was happening, his hands seeking out something to aid him. His right closed around a rock and he picked it up, hauling it back past his ear as he took careful aim. He would only have one shot at this, and it had to count. To do the most damage, he had to attack the weakest spot. 

Easily visible, even in the gloom that had settled in the cavern after the shake stirred up loads of dust to cloud the air, was the woman's necklace. It flashed brightly as if lit from within by its own power source. 

Using that as his guide, he flung the stone. He nearly groaned as it hit too low, shattering the stone instead of biting into the flesh of her neck.. He threw his arm up and recoiled a bit as green light flashed and flared from it. A scream tore through the air, surprising him. Dumbfounded, he watched her stumble backwards, her figure and looks morphing before his very eyes. 

It was almost as if someone had taken a human, then sped up time so that a year was but the flash of an eye. Her shoulders slumped and her back curved, practically erasing six inches from her imposing stature. Fat disappeared from her frame, leaving her skin looking stretched, hanging limply from her arms. The skin around her face wrinkled, and bags appeared under her eyes. The skin about her neck stretched and hung down, and her hair silvered and began falling out. 

With wide eyes, he watched her change until she more resembled a skeleton than the beautiful woman she had once been. He had no idea what had happened, but it was, apparently, a good thing. 

He blinked twice, his mind still attempting to grasp what had just happened, and how. Eventually, though, he realized that Jans was fine. Now he could deal with her, and he could continue on with Aragorn. 

The elf turned and crouched to pick up his friend, painstakingly raising him to his shoulder once more, just as carefully as the first time, though he now did it alone and had to lift him further. He grunted with the effort it took, but continued just the same. He could complain later, when he had Aragorn back, and they could begin joking about the old times when they had traveled back and forth regularly between their two homes and other places besides. 

Things just were not the same without the irritating human insisting he was old enough to assume responsibility, or giving him a hard time about his fastidious appearance or joking about their different habits or arguing playfully about caves and the merits of dwarves--a topic he was sure Aragorn brought up just to vex him (and which he would welcome gladly if only the human would wake up). Even Strider's incomprehensible penchant for touching _everything_ was sorely missed as the elf considered that he might never have to deal with it or any other of the human's habits again. 

It shot pain through his heart, far more pain than he had ever imagined possible without a grave wound to go with it, and usually from an orc blade, which was generally poisoned. With that usually came a visit to Rivendell, and a disapproving-resigned-look-sigh from Lord Elrond. 

He began walking once more, lost in memories of the past. But just as he was reaching the tunnel which, according to Jans, would lead them out and to freedom, disaster struck. 

With a deep, ominous rumble, the shaking began again. This time, though, it was serious. The continued strain upon the stone had reached a breaking point and wide cracks appeared above their heads, cracks that went too deep to hold the weight that pressed down. Legolas heard _schikk-crack_, and froze, his eyes widening. The rumbling grew closer, louder, and belatedly, he began to run, ignoring the fact that Aragorn was bouncing on his shoulder and that he heard--and felt--one of his friend's ribs snap. If they did not get out, it was possible that none of it would matter. 

He ran, but the shaking hindered him, and new rocks were constantly dropping in front of him. A large boulder dropped just before him, too close to be avoided, too large to be jumped over without more time to prepare. 

He tried anyway. 

The elf sprang, the motion sharp and attempted at the last minute. He could not get enough height, and his feet caught on the stone, flipping him as his momentum was partially checked, his head and shoulders continuing forward while his feet halted and moved back. Her tried to twist and protect Aragorn, but he was going too fast, and he was separated from his friend. 

He hit the ground mostly on his head and shoulders, then slid, rocks tumbling down around him, the already fallen stones grinding painfully into his back and shoulders, slicing his face where it scraped across the floor. 

His momentum carried him forward, isolating him in the shaking gloom as their shelter collapsed around them. He really hated caves. It was a wall that finally halted his slide, ending it with a sickening _crunch_. He had just enough time to take a deep breath, before his world decided to collapse around him. 

There was a moment of pain. Then he knew nothing more. 


	17. To Lose Or Win

Um, hey! Here's the next chapter. I couldn't quite manage the interest to read through the whole thing to check for errors, so I'm sure some exist. Grammtical errors or words in the wrong place, wrong word in the right place, that kind of thing. Please forgive them. 

**C:** Uh. Right. 

**Grumpy:** Oh but I did! Just not when I wanted to. Hehe. It was really good. Mm, yeah, help is on its way. Lol. I heard that in my head in Mrs. Doubtfire's voice. (is that how it's spelled?) Anyway, lol, his finer points. Can you tell how odd my thoughts are? 

**Deana:** *g* Wouldn't it.****

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**Nat:** lol. If it is, I've never seen it. Why, because she wasn't at the exit. Her little tunnel didn't lead her there. Lol. Um, I don't think they had cricket. Hehe, yes, let's not think about what he'd look like. *g* Of course. Um, don't think I could forget, but you could still review. *g* 

**Bill the Pony:** Yep! Lol. I'll see what I can do about that cliffie. *g* 

**Lauren:** A month? Yikes, that's terrible. Lol. Yes, my friend does that, too. I haven't reached that point yet. Trying to become creative? Why must you try to be creative? Lol. Don't even need to do that. I'll say a word that I consider common knowledge, and my friends will give me this _looks_, blank looks and ask "What's that mean?" Then I'm stuck trying to come up with a dumbed-down version of the word when I hadn't been able to think of a simpler word to begin with. Lol, I can so picture that, too. The story would be over so much more quickly if everything went right. I've seen so few horror movies, it's laughable, but I may have to see May now just to find out what you're talking about. *g* Well developed. *does a little dance* Well rounded. *does another dance* Thank you! Lol, I can see that one too. I almost made him do that, actually. It just didn't write, so it didn't get put in. *g* 

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****Okay, okay, this chapter is long enough as it is. I'll let you get to it and pray I don't have as many mistakes as I think I do. Hehe. 

Read. Enjoy. *wide smile* Review. You know the drill.****

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**Chapter 17**

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**To Lose or Win**

The mountain crumbled, the shaking no longer so intense, but now a steady rumbling that vibrated one's very bones. It was that feeling of being shaken, so very familiar, that woke him. "I'm awake, Strider, I'm awake," he murmured, but the shaking did not cease, nor did it become more insistent or less. 

Blue eyes peeked out from behind closed lids, beginning with a crack, then widening when nothing was revealed. Regardless of the fact that his body wanted nothing more than to ignore the shaking and go back to sleep, Legolas forced his eyes open. His heart fell when he saw that Aragorn was nowhere nearby, for he had been sure his friend had woken him. Then he remembered where he was, and gasped. 

Nearly frantic, he struggled to sit up, struggled to move, and accomplished neither. His legs would not cooperate and his left arm was too heavy for him to move. It was too dark to see anything, but his natural glow dimly illuminated his surroundings, and he forced himself to move until he could see what was wrong. 

When he had, he almost wished he had not and sank back down onto his back, frustration and despair welling in his chest. He was trapped. He was trapped in a cave under tons of rock. Alone. 

He took a deep breath and held it, fighting against the panic that threatened to engulf him and send him over the edge, past reason. The number of bad experiences he had in caves kept growing, and while he had managed to overcome his feelings towards humans, he had yet to find a cave that could do what Aragorn had done to get through to him. It was certain he never would. The high whistle of his breathing, quickly rushing in and out of his lungs, sounded in his ears even above the constant, deep humming in the distance. 

By the Valar, he was in a cave, alone, with the ceiling crashing down on him, pinned, unable to free himself, and his friend, his best friend, was likely in the same predicament. A shrill laugh, strange to his own ears, escaped him. There had to be something funny in that, didn't there? Aragorn could have found something funny. 

Aragorn. What was he going to do? He had lost the Hope of Men, he had dropped him. His friend was helpless and he had dropped him. Oh, by the Valar, he had dropped him and left him alone, and now they were both helpless, both doomed to die alone under a mountain of rocks, to starve to death or dehydrate, forever occupants of a stone tomb. In a cave that was collapsing. 

His vision blurred and began blacking out along the edges, strange colors floating before him, and a distant, somehow still lucid part of his mind told him he was hyperventilating, but that meant nothing to him. It was too big of a word for his frazzled mind to cope with. 

_You'll pass out, you idiot!_ The voice screamed, and he tried to figure out why that would be a bad thing. It was always better to be asleep when there were things one did not want to endure. It made them go by quicker. Passing out was a good thing. 

_If you pass out, you'll never escape. When you wake it will not be over._ If I wake, he countered, but the voice had a response to that, too, and it penetrated his panic-haze. _If you never wake, Aragorn is doomed whether you could have found a way to save him or not._

A way to save him? Could there be a way to save him, to help him? The elf prince could not think of one if it existed; he was pinned quite firmly under tons of stone which did not shift, even when he struggled against them. Still, if there was a chance, he had to try. He had to. Aragorn was his friend; the human would do no different for him if their positions were reversed. After all, it was Legolas' fault they were in this predicament. 

He was the one who had gotten hurt and forced Aragorn to make his way alone and without guidance through Mirkwood, in a place where even Legolas was not entirely sure of his location. He had forced his friend to seek out help, and Aragorn had found it. He had failed to warn the human of those being's ill intent, of the danger they faced. He had let them walk straight into a trap and he should have stopped it. Aragorn was busy dealing with nightmares, struggling against the last time he had been tormented. And he had exposed his friend to more of the same with his carelessness. He had become distracted. He had doomed Aragorn with his actions. He could not let him die a certain death in a cave, away from his family and those who loved him, if he could help it. 

Again, he made the effort to escape, but got no further than he had the last time. He jerked and pulled, ignoring the burning pain that crept up his limbs with every effort, well aware that he had endured worse for less than a friend's life. He kicked with his legs, hoping to free them, but did not anticipate what happened next. 

The rocks shifted. His legs, which had before only been trapped, were now being crushed. The abrupt pain startled a curse out of him before he could stop himself, and he half rose in an attempt to ease the pain, to remove the burden, nearly wrenching his arm from its socket in the process. He hissed and fell backwards, struggling to ignore the pain, the insult to his pride, his fear, and most of all, his guilt. Tears pooled in his eyes, but did not fall, his feelings running too deep for that. He simply lay there, listening as the rumbling he could hear, that vibrated through his being, gradually stopped, and all was silent. 

He almost wished for the rumbling, the constant sound to lull him and possibly distract his thoughts. He did not want to have time to think, to dwell on the past, to consider how he had failed Aragorn. He did not want to remember how he had failed his friend. 

"Legolas?" 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

The first thing he noticed when awareness returned was pain. No surprise there. He had expected pain, terrible pain, and was not disappointed. Still, he was not prepared for it. He hissed and half curled in on himself automatically before his mind registered that he could not. The pain the movement caused, forced him back down and he lay gasping through the pain until it finally diminished. 

When it did, he frowned. Why could he not? Automatically, he made to look around him but saw only black. This perplexed him and he struggled to get his mind to work. What had happened that he could not see anything around him? 

It was right about the time that his brain started working right (which was likely why he realized it in the first place) that he realized his eyes were closed. Along with that realization came the thought that all was not as quiet as he had originally believed. There was a distant rumbling, an angry grumble, that seemed to be getting further and further away. This newest discovery was no less perplexing than the others, but at least, he thought, he could find some answers. 

The first step, though, was to find out where he was. To do that, he needed to see--which meant opening his eyes. Aragorn tried, his mind commanding his lids to rise, but they did not budge, did not even twitch. _It's not that hard. They may very well be the lightest piece of me._ But there was no change, and his lids remained stubbornly concealing his eyeballs. 

He could not remember having so much trouble opening his eyes since he was seven, when Elrohir had drugged him so they could set his broken arm and forgotten he was less than half the size of most men, and thus only needed less than than half the dose. His family--namely Elladan and Elrohir--had been worried (terrified) when he did not wake for more than fifteen hours, especially since the concoction had only been supposed to last around five hours. 

Elrond had let them worry about what had happened (the only time Aragorn could recall the elf lord not comforting the twins when they were distressed), not telling them their mistake nor that their little brother was fine. It was only when he awoke and blearily asked how much they had given him that they realized their mistake. It had never happened again: not to him, not to anyone. 

In light of that memory, though, he had to think back a bit. _Have I been drugged?_ But no, he was pretty sure he had not been drugged. If he had already been unconscious, there would have been no need to drug him. 

That decided, and never one to give up easily, he tried again. This time, he got results, so he kept trying, his eyelids flickering quickly until he managed to force them open. Even the dim lighting (which really could not be considered lighting) that trickled in from somewhere he could not find hurt his eyes, and he blinked a couple of times before his surroundings swam into focus around him. Plain gray stone stood before him and he instinctively pulled back, an apparently solid wall barely six inches from his eyes catching him off guard. _Wasn't I in chains?_

Aragorn blinked stupidly at the obstruction for a moment, completely at a loss, before he thought to look around. There was not even a sign of a chain, and unless he was much mistaken, he thought wherever he was was smaller than where he had been, and not only because it had been invaded by large boulders. What had happened after the pain sent him away? 

The pain. 

He blinked, silently berating himself for not considering it sooner (the voice at the back of his mind wondered why he would want to), and tried to look at his hands, which radiated the most pain. His right arm, however, could not be seen and felt little at all. His left arm, though, was visible, even movable if he concentrated hard enough, and he brought it up so he could get a better look, wincing when the appendage brushed against the stone wall before him. 

He was surprised to see it was bandaged--a bit more profusely than he would have done it--and smelled strongly of two herbs he knew but could not quite identify but knew to be found in Mirkwood. _Legolas_, his mind supplied to explain the bandages. But what had happened that the elf had been able to help him since he could not imagine Kaialian allowing such a thing out of the kindness of her heart. 

He frowned, then, and tried to shift position, stopping as he came to the decision--really quickly--that it was a bad idea to do so. That little voice in the back of his head told him he had already known it was a bad idea. He wondered why pain never effect _it_. 

When the pain diminished, he was able to determine why he could not move. A large boulder had trapped his legs, landing mostly on his right leg just below the knee. Somehow, when whatever had happened, happened, he had landed in a pocket, of sorts, as he could see a bit of rock supported about four feet above his head, a good deal shorter than when he had last seen the ceiling. 

Aragorn relaxed and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. It was just his sort of luck to move from one life-threatening situation to another to another. Why could he never move from a life-threatening situation to a completely safe non-dangerous one? One where people helped him instead of trying to kill him. Was that really so much to ask? If the frequency of how often he did not get his wish was anything to go by, he would have to guess it was. 

Suddenly, the image of Legolas, dead, floated through his mind, appearing before his eyes behind closed lids. His heart contracted in pain, the thought of losing Legolas--ageless, immortal--to murder was something he would never be able to think about emotionlessly, but now, the pain was not so overwhelming. Hope (or whoever she really was) had told him that path did not have to be; it could be changed, avoided, so long as he did not fall into shadow. 

He would not fall into shadow. 

Whether or not he would be king, or even if he could be, was a decision that could be left for a later time. Gondor, while not as prosperous as at its height, was still doing well under stable leadership. A decision on his heritage (which he felt was highly over-rated--he did not deserve to be king) could wait. Nothing was final, but the shadows were also growing. Kalya had said his people needed their king. Had she seen something he had not? 

It had been several years since he had last had business near Gondor, since his somewhat limited travels had taken him anywhere near the White City, perhaps a return trip was in order? Regardless of his heritage, it was his responsibility as a ranger to protect those who could not protect themselves, and that responsibility dictated that he look into the defenses of Gondor and Rohan. Everyone was better served that way. It had nothing to do with his heritage. . . . 

Aragorn frowned, hearing a cry--or rather, laughter. Was he not alone? Surely there was no one around him, here. That had to be his imagination playing tricks on him. But what if it was not? That laughter had sounded . . . odd. No one laughed like that, bitter, lost; it was the laugh of someone who had given up, who could find nothing to live for, and that thought chilled him: he had been in that same position not all that long ago. Worse, though, was the fact that it had sounded disturbingly familiar. 

He held still, half-hoping half-fearing to hear it again, to confirm his thoughts, his fears, but no sound come. Still . . . if someone else was here, and especially if that someone was Legolas, he could not simply lay around and wait. He had to help; he had been idle too long. Besides, as best he could tell from never having seen most of the caverns when they were intact, he was pretty sure he was still in the Mountains of Mirkwood, and anywhere Kaialian was was somewhere he did not want to stay. 

Judging his right arm to be numb from his weight and not seriously injured, he rolled over--as best be could, anyway, with his legs pinned in place and a solid wall before him not far away--and felt blood rush into his arm. He groaned and pressed his forehead against the ground while he waited for the odd, painful tingling sensation to pass. The only good thing: it did not hurt so bad as when Legolas had retrieved him from the cliff-side and cut the ropes from around his wrists. That, he did not want to experience ever again, and, happily, the painful tingling ended after only a few minutes instead of lasting hours. 

When the pins and needles ceased stabbing into his appendage sufficiently enough that he began to feel other things again, he began cautiously moving it towards his head. Twinges of pain coursed up his arm and into his shoulder whenever he bumped his hand against the wall, telling him in no uncertain terms it was a good thing the pain was numbed in his hands because of the herbs. He would hate to feel--again--the raw pain. Once had been more than enough. 

Finally, though, after several minutes of slow moving, stops and starts, repositioning, gritted teeth, and violent--albiet silent--cursing, his hand rested above his head, his arm held straight out as if he was reaching for the sky (or at least he would have been if he were standing up). Then he rested, his eyes slipping closed as he slowed his breathing. 

Then he heard another cry, muffled and indistinct, though at some point he could not find the rumbling had stopped. His eyes shot open and he sat up, his legs protesting the odd angle they were being forced to assume. Without thought, he started to put his hands down, then thought better of it and fell back down, hands held protectively away from his sides. Once firmly against the floor again, he attempted to become vertical once more, slowly. 

He eased up onto his elbows and twisted his legs until he could sit upright, if not exactly comfortably. Then he took a look at the rocks holding him in place. As far as he could tell, he would not have a problem if he had use of his hands. That, of course, was a problem. He bit his lower lip as he debated whether or not he could move the rock not only with the pain in his hands, but with them bandaged, as well. 

It was not something he would _choose_ to do (inflicting pain, after all, was not a goal of his, and especially not on himself), but a part of him--a rather loud part--objected to staying put, to being helpless, to the possibility of a slow and creeping death because he was not willing to endure a little pain. In the end, however, it was that cry which made his decision: he could not willingly leave someone to suffer, not to save himself. 

Quickly looking around him, he surveyed the rocks that had become his temporary home and which he was more than happy to leave as soon as possible. He was no dwarf, and he had not that people's mastery of stonework, but even he could see that when he freed his legs by shoving the rock back out of the way, the slab braced over his head would crash down, right on his head. _A minor difficulty_, he decided, looking to see what would fall where. 

After several moments, he discovered that if he pushed, pulled, and rolled he could avoid being smashed. The difficulty came in pushing the rock off, pulling his legs out, and rolling out of the way of the falling stone wall, all within a few seconds. 

_Ah, Legolas_, he thought,_ And you wonder why we humans insist on growing so fast. _Everything_ goes fast, even out escape attempts_. 

He chuckled, ending on a sigh, then took a deep breath and braced his hands against the rock he had to move, pressing hard enough that he was sure he was pressing (as evidenced by the pain shooting up his arms to his shoulders), but not hard enough that he moved it prematurely. Then, after going through the plan in his mind and taking several slow, deep breaths while trying not to think about what would happen if he messed up, he began counting to three--and moved on two. 

As hard as he could, he pushed out with his hands while tucking in his feet and rolled to his left, away from where the slab that was coming down. It was close, the rough stone grazing him as he rolled, but when all was once again still, Aragorn and the stone slab lay side by side barely two inches apart. The dust that had been stirred up on impact slowly began floating back down, settling on his face and clothes, and in his hair. 

Then, before the adrenaline had time to leave his system, he pushed himself back into a sitting position. Pain had not yet registered in his brain, and he wanted the painful projects completed before it did. Shaking slightly, he looked to find a way out of his rock cage. 

It actually was not so difficult since the stone he had pushed out of the way revealed an opening that he could _just_ manage to squeeze through. He found himself in a slightly larger cage with various crawl ways scattered throughout, but the way behind him was completely blocked and no light shone before him. The only light peeked out from the space he had just crawled from, sometimes showing through hairline cracks. The only light--except for a faint glow of a different kind which was definitely familiar. 

Carefully, he made his way closer, stepping slowly over rocks and tripping over others unseen in his path. He half-fell a dozen times before he stood near the source of the light. When he did, he leaned forward and pressed his eye against the crack, hoping and dreading what he would find. 

"Legolas?" he called, his heart caught in painful anticipation. Inside, he thought he could see something, but he was not sure. "Legolas!" he cried again, his anxiety coming through in his voice. The young human waited, straining inferior ears to catch even the slightest response that may be uttered. 

"Strider?" 

Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief even as his breath caught on another concern. Even so, he did not fail to note the touch of incredulity in his friend's voice. Again, guilt surged through him. He was responsible. If he had just been stronger . . . but no, he could not go down that path; he already knew where it would lead. He would just have to be stronger from now on (advice easier given than followed). 

"Yes, Legolas, it is I," he assured. "Are you well?" 

"Y-you're awake?" 

Aragorn closed his eyes as a whole new guilt flooded through him with painful realization. What Legolas must have thought! If he had been able to hear Legolas' cries, then surely Legolas--with his keener hearing--had been able to discern his cries and feel the pain through his friend, just as he had done. How much worse, then, would it have been when they finally ceased? And his trip not into unconsciousness but something else? The elf must have seen, must have known, must have feared . . . what? That he would die? That he would never wake up? He had done worse than he knew: in the face of Kaialian's darkness, he had left Legolas alone. 

"Yes, mellon nin, I'm awake. I'm awake and just fine. How are you? Are you injured?" 

There was a long silence on the other side. A fine tremor ran through the rocks around him as he waited impatiently for the response. Then, so faintly he almost missed it: "I'm trapped." 

He frowned. "Trapped how?" 

"I can not move my legs, nor my arm." 

Aragorn considered that for a moment. He would have to see to know what to do, and he had no idea how long it would take him to discover a safe way of freeing his friend. He looked anxiously back to the stone. "Are you injured?" he asked. 

"Nay," Legolas responded, more himself than he had sound before. "I am not." 

The man's eyebrows rose. Nay? Trapped by stone after the collapse and he claims not? "Legolas?" he persisted, inserting a bit of warning into his tone to go with the facial expression Legolas could not see. 

"'Tis nothing," the elf maintained. 

"Legolas! I need the truth! I need to know if you're hurt. I don't know how long it will take me to get you out, but if you could die before. . . ." he trailed off, unwilling to complete the thought. Worse than his friend dying was the thought of him dying alone, with help so near when there might have been something he could do. He swallowed with difficulty. 

"I'm--" Legolas stopped, then started over. "I think one of my legs might be broken, possibly my hand, too. Nothing more than that except a few bruises and some scratches which truly are just scratches, mellon nin. I'm not going anywhere for a while," he finished wryly, joking yet trying to comfort at the same time. 

"Alright," Aragorn answered, moving around to get a better idea of the elf's situation. He traced the edge of the enclosure, stumbling over loose rocks in his way that he could not see, the light not extending so far. Then, after traveling on a quarter of the way around, he encountered a wall; he could not go any further. Painstakingly, he worked his way back around, still tripping over invisible obstacles, and found another wall after only going a short distance past the crack he had originally found. He returned to that crack. "Look up, Legolas," he instructed. "Is there anything that will fall if something is moved?" 

He waited while the elf prince examined his surroundings. While he waited, Aragorn turned and tried to see if there was anything he could use to help pry the rocks away from their niche. He closed his eyes for several seconds, then opened them , and peered around. All he saw were more rocks. _This is not going to be fun._

His attention was drawn back behind him when Legolas' soft voice broke the ominous silence. "Everything appears to be stable. I don't think anything will fall." 

"That's good," he called back. _Now if only I could use my hands_. He turned back around and searched once more. With a disgusted sigh he hoped Legolas did not hear, the ranger attempted to force his bandaged fingers into the cracks--the pain nearly causing him to hiss--with no success. He dropped his hands back to his sides. Staring vaguely to the left of the crack, Aragorn tried to find a solution that did not require him leaving his friend alone, but he could only find one and he knew Legolas would not approve of it. 

"Aragorn?" the elf prince prompted. 

"A moment, Legolas," he called back, making up his mind. "I'll be right back." 

"Back? Where are you going?" 

"I need to find something to help move the stone. I will return as quickly as possible," he assured, then waited for the elf's acceptance. 

After several tense moments, Legolas' voice once again floated to him through the dark. "I will be waiting." 

Aragorn hesitated, hating to leave his friend under such circumstances but knew there was no other way. He murmured, "Be strong, my friend," through the crack and hurried off as quickly as he could, picking his way through the stone and rubble until he found a path he could tread that appeared to actually lead somewhere. Then, he walked. 

How long he walked, he could not say, but he discovered several aches he had not been aware of before, mostly in his legs, and when he checked, he found a couple deep bruises that were already purple. There was one on his shoulder that he found after stumbling into a wall. His shoulder blades were tense and sore and his legs burned slightly from all the bending and standing, over and over. 

Put quite frankly, he was tired. His stomach grumbled and it occurred to him that he did not know when he had last eaten or how long he had been gone. It had not felt very long, so he was inclined to think more time had passed than he thought, but less than he imagined. How long that made it, he had no idea. Right now, though, it felt like forever. 

The tunnel seemed the same way. It continued on into the darkness forever, immeasurable to his mortal eyes. At some point it had started rising again, after descending for many steps, and he had not noticed until recently. Briefly, he wondered if he would be able to find his way back once he found what he was looking for. 

He was surprised, then, when he rounded a corner of crumbled stone and found a larger scantily lit room that had at one time obviously been lavish. The young man stopped and blinked quickly, attempting to clear his eyes of the dazzling spots that danced before them. When he had, he looked around. 

A large bed stood to one side of the wide chamber, the frame split and broken, leaning at odd angles with a ton of rock covering it, swallowing it. Mounds of gray dust had settled on it, making the original color impossible to discern, though he imagined they had once been red. Pillows, dozens of pillows of different sizes and colors littered the floor on the other side of the room, also covered in rocks and dust, a couple scattered around and obviously out of place. Books, too, could be found, most of which resembled books he had seen in the library at Rivendell or in his father's study: and these were also stacked other places than bookshelves. 

Slowly, he walked forward, curiosity leading him on like he had been taken by the hand and pulled into the room. That annoying voice in the back of his head told him he was wasting time, that he needed to find what he was looking for quickly and get out, but his legs would not cooperate and his head could not rule his heart, his heart which whispered there was something here he needed to see, something of great importance. 

So he kept walking, pausing briefly to pick up a purple, silk pillow which had ended up in the middle of the floor. He picked it up with some difficulty, and idly smoothed it with hands that could not feel it's softness. His silver eyes scanned the room. 

He had no idea what he was looking for, exactly; no idea what could possibly be more important than his friend, what he could possibly find that would aid him in any way. Still, he could not leave. 

His gaze caught shiny silver trinkets tossed from the bed or the table onto the floor, a lamp that had been overturned, and another that was still somehow lit and responsible for the light upon his face. It was that which he walked towards, dropping the pillow on his way. Once he got to it, he stopped, then fumbled to hold the loop with fingers that were too thick and could not grasp. It slipped stubbornly from his hands and he frowned, frustrated. 

The young ranger moved to try for a different angle and bumped into a chest behind him, knocking it off-balance. Several objects toppled off the top and slammed to the floor, sending a loud _boom_ echoing off the walls, shattering the near-perfect silence that had fallen over the mountain tunnels. Aragorn jumped guiltily, immediately looking to the cavern entrance to see if his intrusion had been noticed, his heart racing a mile a minute, and he dared not breath, eyes wide. 

Nothing moved. After a few minutes, he realized, breathing a nervous sigh of relief. Until now, he had not realized how nervous he was, how jumpy. With a sigh, he turned back to the lamp--and froze. 

A book had been among the items to fall. It was thick and large with a dirty frayed black leather cover, obviously well-used, and completely nondescript, exactly like hundreds of other books he had seen in his short lifetime. Thus, none of these things came even remotely close to explaining his sudden fascination, yet he could not deny his curiosity. 

Never looking away, he edged forward until he knelt before it, his hands hovering uncertainly as he debated, internally, whether or not to touch it. 

It was not a fair fight. 

As carefully as he could, he lifted the cover and looked at the first page. In slanted, close script, some had written: 

_"To my one and only, to cherish and share with until the end of days, as tangible proof of my love. Your devoted husband, Mannyn._

Except that someone had scratched out "devoted" until it was nearly illegible. He squinted and pushed the lamp closer, then, clumsily, turned the page, catching several and looked down at flowing script. A smile crept onto his face at the happy times described, the love he saw, and he imagined Arwen sitting down with a similar book to record her thoughts, black hair glistening in the sunlight which streamed down from above, soft skin glowing as she smiled, her fathomless blue eyes reflecting her inner light. . . . 

He looked back down at the page and flipped through several more, finding the addition of a son, the family's pride and joy. Several minutes passed in this simple pleasure as he perused another's happiness, imagining such joy for his own love. 

Another page turned, and his smile slipped from his face as he read.__

__

_"He has gone, and my son--so young, twenty this past winter--has left with him. The battle moves closer--they say--the death and destruction that was once foreign makes its way nearer these lands every day. For me, they are already here. _

__

_My husband and son are gone to war, perhaps never to return. They go to protect me, our home, our friends . . . but their presence is sweeter. . . ."_

Aragorn blinked, then flipped a couple more pages and resumed reading, a frown pinching his forehead. 

_"As yesterday, I remember their smiles; the way my son laughed when he ran through the fields and the feel of Mannyn's arms as he held me close, the comfort of their presence when it rained and the words he whispered at night. I remember . . . and the memory burns. It wounds me, taunting me with what I no longer have; may never have again._

__

_"Nine months have they been gone, and no word has reached me. Hope fails me as the hour wanes, as the season turns yet once more, smothering all I have left in creeping darkness. _

__

_"Once, messengers brought word, once I knew he would return to me--that they both would, that my son would carry on his father's name. . . . No more. I have no more."_

With a feeling akin to sickness, a terrible dread, he turned the pages once more, skipping further to the end as despair crept upon the author day by day, entry by entry, a testimony to the decay of a spirit forsaken by hope. Horror crept into his stomach, but he continued, stopping to read one last page despite the voice in his head telling him he did not want to know, did not want to see. . . . 

_"They are dead._

__

_"If I knew it not before, it is certainty now, a dread no longer escapable through denial or petty wishes. The truth has been handed to me, terrible as the harshest call, and as tangible as a sword . . . my husband's._

__

_"My husband's sword, the one thing he would never be parted from save by death, has been returned to my hand, returned by those who left with him to war, who traveled with him on his journey of doom . . . yet did not meet his fate. I wish I could rejoice in their return as their families do._

__

_"Words, they give me. words of consolation, of comfort . . . of kindness, yet their words are acid in my ears, burning yet failing to consume. Their words forever echo. They come to me, meaning good, and I am expected to host them, ignore the pain their ignorance causes and put on an act just the same as they. Yes, just the same. _

__

_"They do not miss my husband; they are glad he is gone. Avidly was my hand sought, the prize of many a man for my beauty. The men who now seek my hand, who came back when my husband did not, are the same men who wished to woo me once. They would woo me again! I would sooner rip out their hearts._

__

_"Maybe then, they would know my pain."_

__

__For a long moment, Aragorn could not move. shock held him to his spot. He had always know if he married Arwen, he would leave her alone before the end of her life. He had known, was resigned to his eventual death, and so gave the matter little thought. But what would happen to Arwen? Would she become cold and bitter? This was Kaialian's journal, he believed. Would his beloved become like the monster who took joy in torture? Would his death twist her spirit so much as to become the very evil they fought against? 

Surely not. 

Yet doubt persisted, the very pain of the thought rendering it impossible to dispel with words alone, and he wondered. What would it be like to be left by your love, their presence snatched away too soon, unfairly? What would it be like for Arwen, pledged to his side, immortality forsaken and doomed to die, no longer able to join her kin? When he was gone, her reason for staying in Middle-earth was gone and her hear broken. What would she do? She would be left to live out the rest of her life among men she could feel no kinship with, no matter how long she dwelled among them. Would she become bitter? 

It scared him to think of such a thing might be possible. And as hard as he tried to deny it, he knew that no matter how happy she was with him, she deserved someone who could stay with her, be with her, who could give her all she deserved. 

Numb, he turned another chunk of pages, not really desiring to see more, but unable to help himself, the unconscious desire to know more moving his hand while his mind was too far gone to object. His hand--bandaged, immoobile--smoothed the pages, and he looked down, his eyes drawn despite the dread of what he would find. 

_"I hate them. Men are monsters, disgusting fiends who care more for riches and land, possessions, than people . . . love. I was a fool, a fool to ever think I might be important, for me. But no, I was a treasure to be coveted until a better one came along. Everyone, even my husband, only wanted me for my body, my beauty . . . the pleasure they can take from me. _

__

_"I was a possession, a possession not even worth holding onto. One who could be abandoned with little thought, not worth anything. Not even my own son, born of my flesh, found worth in returning to me. I am nothing in their eyes._

__

_"But no matter. The Dúnadain, righteous to the end, may have destroyed my world; my tightly held, foolishly believed conceptions. But no more. They possessed me, and I was of no worth to them. They will soon know the folly of their ways. They will regret casting me aside; they will beg for mercy, they will beg for forgiveness, and they will not get it. Men mean nothing to me, their pain my one reward._

__

_"They will die. They will all die. And they will learn their folly through the ages. That is my promise."_

He moved, turned the pages . . . and found them blank. With great difficulty, the ranger turned the individual pages until he found the one directly behind the one he had just read. 

Nothing was written on it, no ink marred the perfection of the page. He could have done well without perfection. Inside, he was nearly frantic, desiring nothing more than to recheck the pages, to flip through them one by one until he found the writing that had to be there, but his hands would not cooperate. 

Breathing heavily, he sat very still, his mind racing with thoughts and suppositions, racing too fast to be understood, to even form a coherent thought. He felt like running, jumping, screaming, pounding his fists, pulling his hair out . . . anything, so long as it was something and moving. Instead, he did . . . nothing. He blinked, staring ahead but saw nothing of what sat before his eyes. 

Suddenly, the ground dropped out from under him and he fell sideways, instinctively throwing out his hand to break his fall. Pain jolted up his arm and into his head, along his shoulder blades, effectively wrenching him from his thoughts. His arm gave out, and he collapsed to the ground with a cry of pain. More rocks crashed down around his head and he curled up in an attempt to protect himself. The rumbling lasted only a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity. 

When it stopped, he slowly sat up, and his silver eyes, dark with unease, landed on the black-bound book. He blinked at it a couple times, worries--what if Arwen became like that? Could I ask such a sacrifice? Would she make it? Should I let her?--flew through his mind, pushed on by what he had read. 

He started to reach for it, his bandaged hand slowly creeping towards one edge. Just one more look. One more look would explain everything, and he would know. One more look would make everything okay. One look. . . . 

The ground shook roughly, jerking him away from the book as if nature itself did not want him to look at it. He put out his hands as the ground rushed up at him, crying out with the jolt of impact through his frame, instinctively curling in on himself against the pain. A cry echoed through his head, and it was a moment before he realized he was not hearing it. More stone fell, peppering his back and arms with stinging chips. The ranger winced as a chip clipped his cheek, drawing blood. 

Shakily, he rose when the trembling stopped, pushing himself warily to his feet as he looked around. That had been bad. If he could judge at all, then they were getting worse, the tremors; not necessarily longer, but worse. It was only a matter of time until the whole structure came down and crushed everything . . . _Legolas!_

He was halfway to the door before he remembered why he had left in the first place. He could not go back yet, but he needed to return soon, before it was too late. Looking around, he walked back to the--miraculously--still burning lamp and picked it up, sliding the loop onto his wrist instead of trying to grasp it. Holding it up before him, he searched the room, looking for anything that might prove useful. He found nothing, but kept looking, determined not to leave empty handed as he had no where else to go. Where was he most likely to find something useful? 

A glint caught his eye and he froze. Turning to face it, he moved the lamp back and forth in an attempt to pinpoint what he had seen. It was four passes before light once again touched what he was looking for: light glinted back from metal. 

Aragorn walked forward, never looking away from that glint. It could be anything, he knew. It would not necessarily be of any use to him . . . but he had a feeling it would be better than even he had dared hope. The ranger dropped to his knees besides it and swiped his hand down it's length to remove the dust that had settled on top. The ranger stared at what he had uncovered, eyes wide from surprise. 

Before him, lay a sword. But not just any sword. . . . It was _his_ sword. 

He blinked, then reached out to touch it reverently. He traced the blade up and encountered a rock. A frown marred his face when he was thwarted, and he looked up. Standing, he turned so his back was to the rock, squatted, leaned against it, then pushed. Ever so slightly, the rock moved. He re-braced and pushed again, pushing harder as he felt the stone give. 

Grunting, sliding, the pressure building, he finally got it to move and it rolled backwards, going so suddenly that Aragorn was nearly dumped to the ground before he managed to reverse momentum. Muscles in his back and legs protested, but the task was done and he could not help but smile. 

Breathing heavily, he rested his hands on his knees, ignoring the pain that jolted through them, then considered the problem of actually picking up the weapon without the use of his hands. His gaze wandered idly as his mind turned the dilemma over and over, then landed on more familiar items. 

A smile, half-amused half-disgusted, split his lips. Apparently, Kaialian had taken an interest in their weapons. He wondered why . . . then dismissed the notion. At the moment, he had more important thing to worry about, like getting out from under these mountains before they collapsed on top of him and his friend. 

Carefully easing the lamp to the ground where he would be able to retrieve it later, he turned to collect their weapons. Using his feet, and working as quickly as possible, he stepped on the bow until he could hook it and swung it over his shoulder (why was it strung? Legolas doesn't leave it strung.), and then hooked the quiver, as well, moving carefully so as to refrain from dumping the arrows on the floor where he would never be able to retrieve them. Next, he stepped on the end of the hilt of his sword, tipping the blade up. He leant forward, carefully, and trapped the blade between his hands (where was the scabbard?), then tossed and caught it until he could slide it--very carefully--into his belt for traveling. He would never be able to pull it quickly, or even _use_ it, but he felt better for having it at his side once more just the same. 

That done, he once again picked up the lamp and turned to go . . . but froze. 

Something was with him. 


	18. True Friendship

Hi, everyone! I have the vague impression that I was going to change some of the things at the end of this chapter, make them flow better or something, but I'm too tired to mess with it. I figure (and hope I do so rightly) that you would prefer to have the chapter rather than wait for me to make changes and end up posting some time tomorrow night. After I've slept at least twelve hours. I'm also really tired, and think I'll go crash. As such, I hope you'll forgive me for not responding to your reviews. I promise to include responses to this chapter in the next one. Promise. But I can't think well enough to do it now. I keep having to go back and redo my spelling for just this. 

Thank you for your reviews. And elfmage, who reviewed every single chapter. *g* That's what all lurkers should do. *g* lol. All right. Enjoy. Review. Do you think you all could get me to a hundred reviews? *pouts* Please? I'd really like that. Maybe it'll help me complete the next story faster. I'd take all the help I could get. 

Forgive me if I've forgotten anything. Remind me, too. That might help also. 

*scrubs hands across face* Sorry. Read, enjoy. I'll talk to you all next time.****

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**Chapter 18**

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**True Friendship**

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****Each second felt like an eternity. Every moment stayed far longer than it was supposed to and stretched to remain as long as possible. Death was staring him in the face and time was crawling. 

_Most people, _the elf observed, _would be thrilled._

After all how many people wanted to rush towards death? Elves rarely considered it, being immortal, but humans thought about it all the time, or at least he thought they did. They were always looking to live just a little longer, get just a little more done, gain just a last bit of power or wealth. For centuries he had hated them, seeing only the bad. Never before had he the chance, reason, nor inclination to contemplate the subject. Now, though, he found himself with not only time, but with a unique perspective he had never had the opportunity to experience before. It was one he did not particularly care for, either. 

Stuck, with no where to go and the very real, very strong desire to escape, to move, to go somewhere else, faced with almost certain death if the tunnel collapsed the rest of the way--or worse, a slow and agonizing death if it did not--he thought he understood why humans tried so hard to escape death, worked so hard to gain power, and insisted on growing up so quickly. He understood, yes, and could even manage to condone it--to a certain extent--but he did not like it at all. Feeling like you were running a race you were doomed to lose and one day lose everything, erased from existence, was certainly not an appealing feeling. It made him feel ill, which was another feeling he was not familiar with and did not like. 

He also had no desire to _become_ familiar with it. 

_Now all that needs happen is for me to feel cold and I could count myself human!_ the elf thought in somewhat disgruntled frustration. _I must remember to be more understanding of Aragorn's limitations._

That was, of course, both easier and harder to accomplish when it came to his friend. The human was so elvish it was sometimes difficult to remember he could not do the same things as elves, and at the same time, it was so difficult to forget that one day soon, the human would not be around, a fact that hovered from time to time at the back of him mind, an insidious plague that ate slowly through his awareness, creeping forward even as time creeped up on Aragorn. It would be too soon. 

_That day will come a lot sooner than we thought if that human does not return and get me out soon_, grouched Legolas inwardly, his helpless position shortening his temper drastically. _He has been gone ages!_ He shifted, pulling at his trapped arm compulsively as he arched his back, the only movement he was capable of, before collapsing back against the ground bonelessly. He sighed and looked towards where he had last heard the human's voice. _Hurry back, Strider. Please._

The relief he had felt upon discovering his friend was not only still alive, but awake, had been enormous. All those countless minutes that had turned into hours when he had thought he would never be able to speak to his friend again had come crashing down around him, the tension that had built up washed away as if by a spring shower. So great was his relief, that he had momentarily forgotten he was in a cave, trapped, and the fate of their tormentor unknown. Everything--for a few brief moments--had been great. 

Now, the terrible dread that he would die here was returning, the fear that Aragorn would never return to help him burdening his heart. All the foul whispers he had ever heard about men--how greedy and selfish, how untrustworthy, how contemptible--all slithered back into his mind, casting shadow over the faith he held in Aragorn. 

_He won't come back_, it whispered. _He will never come back. Men save their own skin; they care nothing for Elves. He will leave, leave you to die._

NO! No, Aragorn was different. He knew Aragorn was different. He had seen the differences, the compassion that resided inside his friend. Never once had Aragorn abandoned anyone in need of assistance, be they elf, dwarf, or man, and the ranger would not start now, not with his best friend. _I am not alone._

But the voice, the traitorous voice, would not be silenced, its laughter at his assurance threatening. _You were always alone,_ it whispered. 

_No no no no no no no,_ he repeated, refusing to listen. Those stupid things the elf never wanted Aragorn to do were proof enough that he was not alone, that his friend was with him, for they were not obligations. They were little things one friend did for another to make their life easier. It always bugged him when Aragorn mothered him, but it proved his kindness and friendship everytime. Legolas knew that if Aragorn ever did not insist on helping, he would wonder what was wrong. It was one of those little things that annoyed him to no end, but that he would miss when Aragorn was gone. 

~*~ 

"Are you alright?" 

"Fine." They had been walking for hours. Normally, that would not have bothered the elf prince, but the last thing he felt like doing right now was walk. Every step he took, every twitch, sent fire shooting up his back to knife through his brain in its fury, causing lights to flare behind his eyes and obscure his vision. It had been a long time since he could properly view his surroundings, but he was sure not going to tell Aragorn that and give him reason to mother him. 

"Are you sure?" 

"Yes," he ground out, his annoyance poorly concealed in his voice. 

"Are--" 

"Strider," he interrupted before the human could go on. "Be quiet." 

For several minutes, they walked on in silence. Despite the pain, which was consuming nearly all his attention, he felt a sense of victory. Really, he should have known better, but the pain was clouding his thoughts and he never noticed when Aragorn disappeared from view. He was too grateful for the silence to pay much attention to the reason. It was folly. 

Suddenly his legs were pulled out from under him. Tension shot through his frame along with adrenaline as his stomach fluttered with the feeling of falling, surprise freezing what reactions pain did not. 

Then he hit the ground, and the fire which had been shooting up his spine was nothing in comparison to the agony which engulfed his senses now. Distantly, very distant, he heard screaming. He twisted in on himself to try and escape the pain. It did not seem to working, but eventually the pain faded into the background and he became aware, once more, of his surroundings. He opened his eyes to see guilty, worried, silver eyes staring down at him. 

As soon as Aragorn saw he was okay, his expression changed to include that annoying you-were-wrong-and-now-you've-paid-for-it look Lord Elrond was so fond of whenever they did something stupid. "Fine?" 

Legolas groaned in response and looked past him to the trees that were swimming in and out of focus above him in time with the blood pounding through his veins. He looked back at the face above him to see the worry firmly back in place, guilt hiding along the edges. He felt something under his head and wondered how long he had been on the floor. 

A hand brushed along his forehead, drawing his attention away from his musings. He was caught off-guard, then, by the grief he saw in his friend's eyes. "Where does it hurt, Legolas?" Aragorn asked softly. 

"What?" 

"Those injuries you did not tell me about and would not let me treat." 

Legolas took a deep breath, then let it out in a sigh without voicing his protestation, deciding compliance was the better part of valor in this instance. "My back," he answered, not entirely sure what was wrong with it. His breath caught as the ranger carefully helped him roll onto his stomach. A few minutes passed and the pain slowly ebbed away, his eyes glazing and drifting half-closed as he danced toward elven dreams. . . . 

How much time had passed before he next woke, he was not sure, but the moon had traveled high in the sky and a cheerful fire burned nearby. Without moving, he looked for the human who had to have started it. 

He rolled over and looked around, spotting the young ranger sitting near his feet, legs crossed, head bowed. A smile pulled at his lips. It was not often that he caught his friend asleep when he was on watch. He pushed himself up, noting with relief that his back was only stiff instead of on fire, and inched towards the human. He reached out to lower his friend to the ground, only to have a hand (quicker that he would have expected) grab his wrist and stop the motion. He stared into mostly alert eyes that were red from lack of sleep. 

"What are you doing up, Legolas?" he asked with a slight frown. 

The elf prince smiled. "I am well, Aragorn, truly. The pain is gone." 

He was eyed closely, searchingly, for a few minutes, his friend's silver eyes glowing from the light of the fire. Legolas sighed, then turned though he had not been asked. After a moments hesitation, he felt a gentle touch, the sliding of fabric against skin, and then a soft chuckle. He turned. 

"You find something amusing, mellon nin?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"How did you guess," answered Aragorn, voice dry. Legolas smiled and Aragorn leaned backwards to gaze up at the stars. "I was just wondering which of the Valar was sadistic enough to stick us together." 

Legolas frowned, not entirely sure what the human was getting at. Aragorn burst out laughing. Soon, Legolas joined him, unable to keep a straight face when he realized why the human laughed. 

~*~ 

He turned his head again, looking for some sign that his friend had returned, that he was not alone any more. Yet his keen eyes were thwarted; no one moved near. The only sounds he heard were the distant rumble that vibrated almost imperceptibly through the stone and his own breathing. 

The elf could not understand how it happened. How was it that every time--almost--he and Aragorn traveled together, he ended up in a cave? And not only that--why did they always have to cave in? Surely the Valar were not so sadistic as to be continually sticking one of the firstborn--especially one who had so much reason to detest them--in caves, on purpose? Surely, it was an accident. 

_Good one, Legolas_, a little voice laughed, this one different from the one who whispered darkness and sounded suspiciously like Aragorn. _Of **course** the Valar do things on **accident**!_

Legolas frowned. Perhaps the Valar would not make such a mistake. But surely it was not on purpose. No one would do that, put someone somewhere they hate, repeatedly and on purpose. It was cruel. 

_And Orcs are simply so nice and sweet and fair_, came the voice again, taunting. He really did not like that voice. Why could not he delude himself if he wanted to? He was free. 

_If you overlook the boulders pinning you in place, that is_, came the voice, and Legolas suddenly knew who it really sounded like, as it was not Aragorn; even the human was not so unswervingly annoying. No, that singular honor could only belong to one. 

He grimaced. _Shut up,_ he ordered the voice, glaring into the dark. _I have enough to worry about as it is_. 

He would have gladly gone with a different reply than he got. 

Suddenly, the ground started shaking, shifting the boulders that held him and sending some of the smaller stones falling down around his head to connect painfully with his shoulders or stomach. He brought his free hand up to protect his head as best he could, even as he tensed in pain. He was reminded, forcefully, of the earth-shake he had experienced several years ago in Rivendell, and was pretty sure he knew which experience he preferred, even if one of them did include a wicked injury. All he wanted was to be gone. 

Just as quickly as it had begun, thankfully, it was over, and the silence that reigned was more complete than the one it followed. He held perfectly still, the silence making him distinctly uncomfortable as it was somehow worse than the disgruntled rumbling. His hair stood on end and a strange prickling sensation walked up his spine, feeling like someone had just run their cold fingers up it. He shuddered helplessly. 

_Please, hurry up, Aragorn. Hurry please,_ he begged again, trying to _will_ the message to the absent human. Anything, _anything_, had to be better than this . . . waiting, forever, unsure if or when it would end with conflicting emotion pulling him apart. He desperately wanted to move, so desperately his muscles kept tensing, but he did not dare. 

"Come on, Strider." 

He did his best to relax. . . . 

~*~ 

"Come on, Estel," Elladan said, laughing. "Relax. It's not that hard." 

Estel glowered. "Then why don't you do it?" 

"I've already done it," the elf replied. "It won't hurt." 

"Why don't I feel relieved?" the human replied dryly, squirming once more. Elrohir and Legolas grinned; Elladan mock-scowled back at them. 

"Don't worry, little brother," Elrohir assured, still smiling. "Elladan would not dare do anything permanent. Ada would kill him." 

Legolas burst out laughing. 

Estel glared at the fair haired being. "You are not helping." The twins burst into laughter and Estel squirmed harder, his attempts bordering on frantic before he slumped, defeated. Large silver eyes regarded the elf prince. "Legolas. Please." 

Something in the plea touched him. He looked at the human, then back at the twins. "Maybe we should just let him go," he suggested, though he had no real idea what the twins planned. "We could wait until he's fully healed." 

"Oh, no," Elrohir objected. "If we wait, we'll never get the opportunity again." 

"But since you feel this way . . ." Elladan said, walking close as he watched Estel thoughtfully. The young man was watching the elf just as closely. "Perhaps we can come to some kind of agreement." 

He was just about to agree when Estel's eyes widened in realization--but it was too late. Quicker than he would have believed possible of the Noldor elves, he was tied up, just as securely as Estel, and placed next to the human before the widely grinning twins. He swallowed compulsively and suddenly understood--completely--his friend's unwillingness to be at their mercy. He even felt guilty for helping them catch him. 

Elrohir spoke first, his eyes twinkling. "So glad you decided to join in the fun, Legolas. The more the merrier." 

"Oh, yes. But, alas, we cannot spare the time to chat." 

With that, they went to work, smearing stuff--exactly what, neither Legolas nor Estel could be sure--but it was fragrant. Each smell individually could have been charming, but all together they were overwhelmingly horrible. After several minutes, the twins walked away, laughing hysterically, just before other elves emerged, curious as to the cause of the fuss. 

They found two beings--one man, one elf--in a partially secluded area of the gardens. Estel's hair was bright red, bordering on pink, with streaks running down onto his shoulders. A white paste was smeared all over his face with red smeared around his mouth and half-moons under his eyes. Legolas' once golden hair was a vibrant purple with streaks dripping down his face, some of it also streaking the white paste that covered his face with a purple streak down his nose and another down his chin. Both stared at the crowd that gathered around them. Chuckles, poorly concealed, sounded around the group, and smiles could be seen throughout the crowd. 

The helpless friends merely stared at them, too stunned and perplexed to remember they wanted to be released. It was not until Elrond and Glorfindel arrived, both fighting smiles (and almost succeeding), that they snapped out of their stupor. 

"Lord Elrond," Legolas acknowledge, a clump of white falling as he talked and earning amused titters from the onlookers. Estel echoed, "Ada." 

The lord of Imladris studied them in silence for a few moments, completely ignoring the smirking elf beside him. "Dare I ask what it is you are doing?" 

Estel looked at Legolas, who looked back. "Us, Ada?" he inquired. "We are sitting. Mayhap you should ask after the twins." 

His lips spasmed. "Mayhap I should." He stared at them without moving, Estel staring right back. "Is something on your mind, ion nin?" he asked, amusement coloring his tone. 

The question perplexed the human, which gained more laughter from the elves around them. The human nearly said no, but a kick from Legolas changed his mind. "Er, please, Ada. Could you untie us?" 

Elrond laughed slightly and waved his hand slightly in a shooing gesture. The remaining elves dispersed, chuckling and talking amongst themselves while Elrond and Glorfindel untied the two victims. "I suggest you go change." 

Legolas nodded quickly and took off, Estel quick on his heels. 

"Hey, Legolas! Wait up!" 

~*~ 

He had been embarrassed, and was glad for the paste that covered his face as it kept his humiliation from the other elves. A grown elf, bound and filthy and subjected to the scrutiny of many elves. His father would have had a fit at the lack of decorum--would have, that is, until he gained experience with the foursome in his halls. Then, he was glad if that was _all_ they did. 

Aragorn had not understood, at first, well used to his brothers' antics and the attention it garnered after more than twenty years at their side. The human had been startled when he had gone straight to his room without a word. He had stood outside the door for fifteen minutes--still filthy--before Legolas found the courage to let him in. 

~*~ 

"What do you want?" Legolas asked, his hair down and his face nearly clear of the twins' embellishments. 

Estel opened his mouth, then closed it and mutely shook his head. The elf sighed and moved into the room. Estel followed, closing the door behind him. His steps were hesitant as he watched his friend, who was silent. 

"I think I know how to get the color out of your hair," the human offered after a minute. 

Legolas nodded. He did not trust himself to speak, to open his mouth, and not have his voice betray his humiliation. Estel did not need to be burdened with that; it was not his fault. The elf refused to turn and meet his friend's piercing silver stare. There was the possibility that he would see. 

The young man guessed anyway. "Thank you," he said. 

Legolas whirled, startled. "For what?" 

"For . . . for staying with me." The elf merely blinked at him blankly, so he continued. "For helping." 

"But I didn't," the elf prince denied. "They still--" 

"You did," Aragorn interrupted firmly. He opened his mouth, then closed it again and made as if to sit on the edge of the bed, but thought better of that, too. Legolas watched him, perplexed and slightly amused, as the human ran his hand through his hair and had it come away red. "You did," he repeated. 

The elf prince shook his head slowly. "How?" 

"By being there," Estel answered, staring straight at him. "By being with me." 

"I don't understand," Legolas said slowly, feeling that perhaps he was beginning to, that understanding hung just out of reach. 

Aragorn sighed. "Why did that bother you so much, Legolas?" 

The elf did not answer immediately, glancing down at his hands and biting his lip. Could he truly tell this human? Could he . . . yes, he could. He looked up. "It was unbecoming," he said simply. 

"It was embarrassing," Estel translated. Legolas nodded. "Well, it's no fun to be embarrassed alone." 

Legolas' brow furrowed briefly. His friend had not seemed at all bothered by the treatment, the laughter. He had never considered it was his presence that allowed Estel to brush it all aside. It was also something he could not just believe. His friend was rarely bothered by anything the twins did so. . . . 

Estel smiled knowingly, the expression somewhat melancholy. "I've learned to accept, and even expect, laughter from Elves. I am Edain. Edain do stupid things, and get laughed at. I simply try to laugh, too." 

"And what does that do?" 

"It makes it so I'm not alone." 

Legolas stared at the human with new understanding and growing respect. At some point, though, the elves had obviously accepted the human among them, as well, for he did not think such incidents made them think less of the human in their midst. Accept to be accepted. Slowly, he smiled. 

"Not alone," he echoed. "You look terrible." 

Aragorn smirked, and Legolas' smile widened. Not alone. That was a good place to be. 

~*~ 

And right now, he wished desperately that he had just been victimized by one of the twins' pranks instead of trapped inside a mountain waiting for death. 

He sighed. If only he could move, get up, walk around. What was taking Aragorn so long? 

The ground jolted, trembling, and rocks crumbled, loud _cracks_ sounded near him, and his eyes widened. The mountain was coming down; he could feel it. Dust filtered down around him, choking, and he half rolled (as far as he could) as a chunk of stone fell from the ceiling, landing at about his right shoulder. A cry wrenched from his throat with the movement, the additional jerking of the stone not helping the pain at all, and he bit his lip to stay silent. Just because he was helpless did not mean he had to be weak. 

He squinted against the shifting cloud that drifted around his eyes and strained his ears to catch the approach of his friend as seconds passed into minutes. He prayed for an end, but one did not come. Hope is slippery when helplessness abounds, especially to the proud. He squeezed his eyes shut and began muttering under his breath, repeating over and over, "Im avon fir." ( I will not die.) 

The rumbling grew louder, increasing, closing in on him as if it desired to smother him, drown him and leave him dead. He clenched his fists and squeezed his eyes tighter, the pain increasing, but he refused to break his chant, a moment of irrationality telling him if he did, he would die. He could not die; he had to wait for Aragorn to come back. He had to. 

"Im avon fir," he muttered, determined. 

"Legolas!" 

His eyes shot open, the dust nearly blinding him. "Aragorn!" Inwardly, in the back of his mind, he cringed at the fear, desperation, and relief that colored his voice. "The mountain is coming down!" 

"Hold on, Legolas. Just another minute." Just over the horrible din of cracking stone, he caught a faint clatter, like several objects had been dropped. With something else to focus on, the roar of stone seemed to fade, and he did his best to mark his friend's progress through the stone. 

A high-pitched scraping reached his ears, a sound he found familiar, but which took a few minutes to register. When it did, his eyes widened in surprise: metal on stone. What was Aragorn doing? 

The stone pinning his arm rocked unexpectedly and he could not withhold a small cry. Actually, it was likely louder than that because Aragorn heard it over the rumble of stone. "Legolas?" 

"Just keep going," he ground out. "Quickly." 

Almost immediately, the rocking returned, and then the stone was gone, his arm free and tender, filled with pins and needles. Slowly, he breathed out, expelling the pent up air with a hiss. But suddenly, Aragorn was at his side and a cool hand was placed briefly on his shoulder as a show of support, then the ranger went to work freeing his legs. 

He studied his friend, only too happy to have something different to focus on. Aragorn was filthy; even compared to his normal levels of dirtiness, filthy was the only way to describe him, and even then the adjective fell short. His hair was a dark, matted tangle that looked as if it was a solid mass instead of thousands of individual strands, the knots inter-tangled to such an extent that little of his hair fell free. His face was streaked with dirt, nearly covered, and sweat darkened parts of it, mingling with blood on his cheek. His hands were just as filthy, and his clothes were irredeemable. Truly, he looked as if he had jumped into a tub of dust, covered himself in it and rubbed it in after dipping himself in water. This was a new accomplishment. 

Then pain blossomed in his once numb legs. A hoarse yell flew past his lips to compete with the echoing din of crashing rock. He squeezed his eyes shut and dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands in an attempt to distract himself from the pain. Of course, he still was not sure how causing more pain got rid of different pain, but so long as the agony that engulfed his legs went away, and it seemed to, he did not care. 

Suddenly, he felt someone near him and a hand land on his shoulder. He looked up to find silver eyes staring back at him. "Come," Aragorn said, doing his best to lever the elf prince to a sitting position. 

Legolas nodded, and helped in the endeavor. He was so glad to finally be leaving these accursed tunnels that it did not occur to him to protest the aid of his friend, even when the other grabbed him under the arms and hauled him to his feet. 

There, however, they encountered a problem: Legolas could not stand. His legs refused to lock and hold his weight as soon as he put pressure on them. Another cry forced it's way past his lips as he sank back to the ground and curled up into a ball. It hurt so bad. . . . 

"Legolas," Aragorn called, softly and worriedly. "We must leave. Now." 

"I know," he murmured back painfully, and after a moments hesitation began to uncurl so they could try again. He wanted so badly to stand, to walk out under his own power and enjoy his freedom, but wishing does not make things happen, and he could not wish his legs healed. 

Aragorn squatted beside him and threaded his arm under the elf's own. "Lean on me, mellon nin." The elf grabbed on with his hand and helped the ranger bear his weight as much as was possible. Once he was standing, he began easing his weight off of Aragorn. His friend waited patiently, or as patiently as he ever waited when everything inside screamed, shrieked, at you to move. Finally, though, all his weight was on his own legs, and Legolas dared to stand on his own. Aragorn's arms hovered near him, ready if the elf collapsed again. Thankfully, he did not. 

Then the ranger ducked his shoulder and grabbed Legolas about the knees. Pain flared through his mind, and he allowed himself to fall across the man's shoulders. "Aragorn, what--" 

"No arguing," was the terse reply, and Legolas hurriedly grabbed on to his friend's shirt in a effort to assuage the feeling that he would fall as the ranger started moving. "It'll be quicker this way." 

Legolas frowned but said nothing, occupying himself with the task of not making a sound despite the hearty protest of his legs and arm. "Broken" was obviously going to be too kind a verdict. "Crushed" felt much more likely, and he cringed inwardly at how much mothering such a diagnosis would bestow upon him, and not just from Aragorn. 

He raised his head to look around him, watched as boulders dropped from the ceiling, falling closer and closer. He tensed. "Aragorn. . . ." 

"I know, I know," his friend called back, strain evident in his voice. The ranger knew they had the best chance of making it out alive if he carried the prince, but that did not mean he was truly capable. His body was complaining, screaming, burning, but he dared not listen to it. His throat was parched and coated with dust, every gasping breath more painful than the last. But he dared not--could not--stop. 

He felt Legolas tense across his shoulder, felt the other's fingers clutch in his tunic, felt the pebbles crunch and slip beneath his feet, but he dared not slow, his consciousness submerging until he knew only two things: run, and do not stop. 

The ground shook, the walls rumbled, boulders fell behind them and before. Dust drifted and his panting breaths were drowned out by the roar of crashing stone, marked only by the one who's fate laid with him as he raced for the exit. 

To him, everything looked in slow motion, and he moved, dodging obstacles, racing for the end that seemed to grow further away every second, more impossible to reach, a safe harbor that taunted those who sought it. His foot twisted and he cried out, stumbling. A stone crashed beside them, straying chips to bite at them. 

Somehow, he remained on his feel. Somehow, he kept running, step after step through dark tunnels he did not know, no light before him to say his destination was near. Nothing but pain and darkness and fear mixed with crashing stone. Nothing, save the light of the lamp he yet held and the glow of the elf he carried, and a distant chant that took him a few minutes to hear. 

". . . We're going to make it. We're going to make it. Almost there. Going to make it, almost there. . . . " 

Almost as if that was what he had been waiting for, a light appeared before him, dazzling his eyes, and he put on an extra burst of speed, how he did not know, ignoring the stones that reached out to trip him up. The light loomed closer and closer, slowly moving towards him. 

He gasped for air, the sound loud in his ears, echoing, the rumble of stones having faded even as his vision narrowed to perceive only his goal, growing, moving ever closer. . . . 

Then, with a last impossible effort, they gained freedom. And the mountain fell. 


	19. Again We Meet

Ai! It's posting time already!? No. *scowls darkly* I hate this chapter. I hate it and I can't find a way to change it, so I'll give it to you as is. I also have no time. Again. So I can't respond. Again. *glares furiously* No time. Grrrr. Next chapter will find me more courteous, I promise. But for now, please forgive my haste and accept this new chapter with my humblest apologizes. 

Now, please enjoy while I lock myself outside and scream. Good day.****

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**Chapter 19**

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**Again We Meet **

Legolas gasped in surprise as he suddenly felt himself falling, the world rotating around him. Pain sparked up his legs, followed by a hard, unyielding clap on the back that knocked the air out of his lungs. Fire crawled up his back as he slid, then started tumbling, the incline he landed on doing nothing to halt his momentum, and he rolled down and down, his surroundings spinning nauseatingly around him. He flailed through the pain to try and stop his unpleasant trip. 

Moments or an eternity later, he did not care, but when he finally stopped, he pushed himself up on his hands and knees and looked around. The world turned idly around him before settling back down into its accustomed space, and he blinked his eyes a couple times to clear his vision. 

The elf prince found himself in a depression, with the hill continuing down for several more feet, little grass growing around him and the trees leaning towards the ground, away from the mountain. A harsh wind made them sway dangerously and a bold flash of lightning split the sky just above the mountain followed quickly by a deafening crack of thunder. Wide blue eyes scanned the ground for Aragorn, searching frantically for his friend. 

Just as he was about to panic (a voice laughed maniacally inside his head at that admission), he spotted the young man at the base of a tree, even filthier than he had been (if that were possible) and his clothing so far past irredeemable that it was conceivable that the articles of clothing could see the days when they had been new. 

Painfully, he crawled to his friend's side, and slowly rolled him onto his back so he could get a better look at the young man. "Aragorn," he breathed. A trembling hand rested on his chest as worried eyes scanned his face. "Aragorn, wake up." The chest beneath him rose and fell, but the silence was too familiar, too terrifyingly familiar, and panic once again assailed him. He shook his friend, rocking him back and forth. And cried urgently, "Aragorn!" 

The human groaned, his eyes fluttering weakly. Legolas sighed in relief, and the human's head turned toward the sound, though his eyes remained shut. A wavery smile split the elf's lips. "Strider. Open your eyes, you stubborn Dúnadan." 

Slowly, bleary silver eyes opened and gazed at the elf, or rather, in his general direction. "Let's not do that again," he wheezed weakly, then started coughing, the sound dry and feeble even as it jerked the human's body painfully. 

Legolas soothed his friend the best he could, rubbing his chest soothingly until the fit ceased. "Sh," he quieted. "Don't speak. There is much we need to catch up on, but not just yet." 

Aragorn nodded, and did his best to look around while lying down with a tree obscuring part of his view. "We need to move," he breathed, the words more an impression of sound than anything else, but Legolas heard him just the same. 

"Aye. But I cannot carry you. Were you injured?" Legolas nearly laughed at his own question after what he said sank in and was surprised when Aragorn did not, thinking it an inane thing to say after what had just happened. 

To his disbelief, Aragorn shook his head. "No." 

"No?!" he cried. "How 'no'?" 

Aragorn smiled, and might have laughed save that he wisely suspected it would turn into another coughing fit. Talking was task enough, and even then he could feel the coughs building in his throat. He croaked, "Fewer injuries. Don't care how." 

Legolas blinked, then chuckled. "Right. What was I thinking." 

Cautiously, Aragorn rolled over and began the painstaking process of sitting, wincing when he pushed with his hands, which registered their disapproval of his continued abuse by shooting agony up his arms. When the world remained as it was, he sank back onto his behind and looked at Legolas, then motioned to his legs, an eyebrow raised. 

The elf pursed his lips, irritation flashing across his blue eyes. "Fine." 

The other eyebrow shot up to join it's companion, and Legolas just_ knew_ what his friend was thinking. _Fine? You couldn't walk, and you expect me to believe they're _fine_?_

"Better, now," he continued, refusing to change his story. 

The eyebrows rose higher, then lowered, the human assuming a glare that he had obviously learned from Elrond whenever the elf lord desired to get information from someone, and the truth at that, without having to repeat himself. 

Legolas shifted uncomfortably under the stare, but refused to give in. "Shall we get moving?" he asked instead. 

Without a word, Aragorn rocked forward, crouching on his feet before pushing into a standing position, his hands never touching the ground as he shifted positions. He drew in a sharp breath when pain lanced up his side, quickly followed by a coughing fit. 

Legolas pushed himself to his feet hurriedly, using the trunk of the tree as a brace while steadfastly ignoring the pain, and caught his friend as he stumbled. "We are a sorry sight, my friend," he told Aragorn when the man could breath again. The human looked up at him. "We look terrible for not quite being on death's door." 

Aragorn chuckled at that, doing his best not to breath while still drawing breath. He did not want to start coughing again, and his chest ached terribly. It was a task to breath, and a different one, though just as difficult, to remain standing. The world around him kept fuzing together. He could not imagine what could possibly go wrong next. 

A loud, unconscionable **_BOOM_** shattered the silence, trailing like the crack of a whip. The friends jumped, eyes darting around for the source of the sound. Then the sky opened up and rain poured down on their heads, soaking them both in moments. Aragorn tilted his head back, letting the rain drip into his mouth and soothe his throat. He coughed a couple of times, choking, before his throat finally stopped hurting enough that he could contemplate speaking. 

He exchanged a rueful glance with Legolas, realizing that _this_ was how it could get worse. Then, each leaning on the other, they slowly, carefully, made their way down the slick and treacherous slope, every misstep threatening to send both to the ground while pain rolled through them ruthlessly, more than the rain and mud conspiring to send them down the hill a lot quicker than was feasible to avoid injury to the already injured. 

Rain dripped into their eyes, streaming over their faces, but neither dared remove their gaze from the ground with each hesitant step threatening to send them sliding the rest of the way down the slope. They were so absorbed, they never noticed when they were surrounded. Again. 

Aragorn stopped suddenly when an object was abruptly shoved before his face, and looked up. Legolas stumbled, but also looked around, his countenance darkening once he saw who it was. The pouring rain made it difficult to see, but he had no difficulty recognizing these men for who they were. 

"You!" one of them cried in surprise. "How did you get out here?" 

"We escaped," Legolas snapped. "No thanks to you." 

Color drained from nearly a dozen faces. "You shouldn't have done that. She will not be pleased." 

"We could take them back," another spoke up, his voice trembling. The elf thought he recognized him as Briit. "Maybe she would be forgiving." 

"She is never forgiving," another retorted. "Our blood flows according to her whims." His tone was bitter. Both friends looked at the shabby group before them, taking in the lean forms through their soaked clothing. 

"Quiet!" yet another hissed. "She might hear you." 

"I doubt she is hearing much of anything," Legolas challenged, shaking his head even as he clung to Aragorn to remain standing. "The mountain collapsed. It's unlikely anything within it yet lives." His expression darkened at that, and Aragorn glanced at him questioningly. 

Silence hung, broken only by the splatter of rain that was a steady roar around the group. Then one of the men, with greenish-brown eyes stepped forward and ended the argument. "Enough. Her ire is gained. A few hours more or less will not change it. Torl, Scree, bring them. There is much that needs be discussed, yet they need rest, food, and aid, and we can give them that." 

Two men stepped forward and braced the companions, then they continued down to the village. They were led into the same hut they had quartered in before and left. Shortly thereafter, a troupe of women entered, bearing food, linen bandages, herbs, water, wood, and many other things, besides. Anything and everything the two friends could possibly wish for. The man and elf watched passively until the parade was finished, then Aragorn stood and moved over to the food that had been placed on the edge of the bed. He pushed it closer to Legolas, who moved to the other side of it carefully. 

They stared at the food before them as if they had never seen anything like it before. Despite their hunger, neither made a move to eat, the memory of their last meal here, and the consequences too vivid in their minds to allow their bodies to slack it's hunger with materials provided by their former-turned-present hosts. 

"I think it was the wine," Aragorn offered after a moment. Legolas nodded. He was rocking back and forth slowly, keen gaze staring through the tray before him. Aragorn's stomach grumbled, breaking the tense silence that had fallen between the friends. 

A laugh worked free of Legolas' lips, and he smiled at the human before him. "You're right," he said, a mischievous twinkle lighting his eyes. "No need to waste perfectly good food. Especially since Kaialian can trouble us no more." He reached for a piece of fruit. 

Aragorn did, as well, though he frowned at the fair being before him, pausing as his appearance registered for the first time. A smirk twitched at the corners of his lips as he studied the water-logged, filthy appearance of his best friend. 

"What?" the elf prince inquired. 

Heroically, the young man struggled against his laughter. "You look terrible," he managed without laughing, though his voice was thick with surpressed laughter. 

The elf blinked, then studied his friend closely. "So do you," he stated with much dignity, his expression aloof. "And you're dripping on the linens," he added. 

Aragorn's battle was lost. 

His whole body shook as laughter poured out of him, and he buried his head in his hands. Legolas tried to ignore him, tried not to join in his friend's hilarity, but the tension was too much, his relief too great, and the human's amusement too contagious. He, too, lost his battle. Laughter mingled with the patter of rain for many minutes, unheard by the members of the village. 

Eventually, they calmed enough to eat, and Aragorn finally managed to broach the subject that had been bothering him since he woke. "Legolas? What happened?" 

Blue eyes studied him warily. "What do you mean?" 

"After . . . after I. . . . " The ranger frowned. He did not know exactly what to call his . . . trip, for it had certainly not been a dream. "How did we escape?" 

"It is a long story," the elf hedged, then changed the subject. "But let me see to your wounds." He quickly scooted forward, easily pushing the tray out of the way, discarding the piece of bread he had been picking at halfheartedly. 

Aragorn just as quickly scooted back, nearly scooting off the back of the cot in the process. "I am fine," he stated, shaking his head. His head did not like that much, and showed it's disapproval by sending the world on a small spin around his head. He wavered, spinning the same way his surroundings were in an attempt not to fall, then felt a hand grab his arm. 

"You are not fine." 

"I will be." He irritably brushed his friend's hand off and glared at him. 

Legolas sighed, casting back in his mind for a way to get the stubborn ranger to cooperate. Humans always become so unbearable when they are injured. His mind, still nimble despite his own injuries, lighted upon something he had used with the young ones when he had been forced to deal with them: find something they want and exchange it for what you want. He glared back. "I suppose you don't want to know how we escaped, then." 

Aragorn's glare, if anything, intensified, but the young man's curiosity one out, and he slumped slightly. "Oh, fine. But you had best tell me everything." 

"Of course," the elf replied, moving forward and quickly examining his friend's injuries, talking the entire time, describing the events as accurately as possible until the time when he had stumbled, the narrative coming easier with something to occupy him other than the memories. Then he paused. "That is all there is to tell, but I would hear what happened with you, for you were gone a long time and came back with our--" The elf suddenly cut off, registering what he was saying. He half stood, but Aragorn beat him to it. 

"Our weapons!" the ranger cried, finishing his thought and shooting to his fee faster than the elf would have thought possible in his condition or otherwise. "I completely forgot." He reached towards his belt and found where it had been torn free. 

A slender hand on his arm stopped him when he might have charged back into the storm, capable or no. "I do not remember seeing them where we were, but they will keep a few more hours, or not. Either way, they can be remade." The words were painful for the wood-elf, and a grimace momentarily flitted across his face as he advocated leaving his precious bow out in the rain, but it was gone quickly and he could not keep his human friend in place if he decided to chase after his weapons. Sacrifices were made for friendship, and this was one he was willing to make, considering the alternatives. "I, however, would not have a sick human on my hands who is unbearably grumpy." _Not that you aren't already, but. . . . _

Aragorn shoved him, then grimaced and looked down at his hands. "I hope they will heal," he murmured, looking down at the dirty bandages. "I cannot stand not being able to use my hands." 

"I'm sure they will. Now tell me what happened and how you found our weapons." 

A small smile graced his lips, amused by his friend's persistence. "What makes you think something happened? Certainly, finding lost weapons in a collapsing series of caves and freeing a friend with them before rushing from certain death is not an interesting tale." 

"Certainly," replied Legolas, _almost_ managing not to smile, "but I would heave you tell it anyway. And with no missing nor glossed details." 

Aragorn chuckled, shifting, then glanced at his still bandaged hands and sobered. He looked at Legolas, guilt once again shadowing his eyes. "I should tend you but I have not enough use of my hands to even pour water." 

"You're stalling," objected Legolas, hoping to divert his friend's attention. "Besides, they are not so bad. And now that we are not going anywhere, such things can wait. They do not hurt." 

The ranger hesitated, looking far from convinced, but nodded slowly. "All right. I will tell you." And he spoke of his trip through the dark, of the lavish room, of the journal he had found, of his finding their weapons, and then he paused, continuing on more slowly. "It was most curious to me to find them, for I cannot imagine what she would do with them." The ranger frowned, gazing distantly out the window, the rain lulling him. 

"And then?" Legolas prompted after a moment. 

Aragorn jerked. "And then," he picked up, "I decided to head back. I worried it was already too late, that I had dawdled too long and that the shakes had already killed you. But when I turned to leave, I discovered I was not so alone as I thought. A figure stood before me. Or I think it stood. It was misshapen and came about to my waist, dressed in a long cloak which obscured it completely from my sight. 

"Then it hissed, and I would swear it was not human, but that I fear it was. It advanced into the room, and I knew not what to do. Drawing my sword, or rather, attempting to, would have been useless, so I simply stood, and waited for it to advance, staring at where I thought it's eyes would be. 

"Then. . . ." he trailed off and gestured helplessly. "It left, fading into the shadows as if it had never been." He was silent a moment, frowning, and Legolas perceived there was more his friend wished to say and waited patiently, this time not prompting. "When it was gone, and I was reasonably sure it was not coming back, I made my way into the hall. I turned to return, and heard a ghostly voice echo down the hall. 

"'You will face your doom,' it said. 'The end is near at hand'." Aragorn looked to Legolas, curious to see what the wood-elf made of this. 

Slowly, Legolas shook his head. "Ai, it is more interesting than I had thought, but I can see no more than you concerning what it may mean. Mayhap is means nothing." 

Aragorn shook his head. "With out luck, Legolas, it means everything." 

Whatever the elf would have said to that, no one would know, for a man with a fierce scowl on his face burst into the room. "Your presence is requested in the meeting hall," he growled, leaving no doubt that this was not a request. 

Legolas sighed, and Aragorn turned to the man, his expression hard and brooking no argument. "My companion was injured. He shall go nowhere until he has been tended, and I am unable." 

"My lords--" 

"Can join us here if their counsel is so urgent," Aragorn stated firmly. Silver eyes bore into darkest brown, relentless with his passion, and the other looked away. 

"I will inform them," he murmured and left without a backwards glance. 

Legolas gave the human a sideways glance, surpressed amusement flashing in his eyes. "You know, Strider," he began, tone wry. "We could do without angering out hosts." 

Aragorn returned the look. "We could," he agreed. "But do you have any idea what my father would say--nay, what he would _do_, if I let you injure yourself needlessly when it could have been prevented? And what of your father? What would _he_ say? What would he _do_? 

The elf's mouth worked a moment in silence, his mouth forming the words but his voice failing to voice them. Apparently, the elf prince could not come up with a response his conscience would allow him to voice, but finally, he came up with something he could live with. "Forget I ever suggested we do anything to enhance our survival that we might actually arrive at that point." 

The ranger stared at him a moment before venturing, "If I did not know it would hurt abominably, I would hit you." 

Legolas, son of Thranduil, prince of Mirkwood, reserved, dignified to a fault, broke down in hysterical laughter. It was many minutes before he calmed enough to speak, and by that time, they had been joined by others once more. 

The healers had arrived. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

An hour later, clean, fed, tended, and slightly annoyed, Aragorn and Legolas were carried into the meeting hall, possibly the largest building in the village, though that did not say much as none of the buildings were what most would consider large. It easily accommodated all the men that had come in, some sitting, some standing.. The friends were placed among the former, and it was difficult to tell who was more disgruntled with this development: the ranger or the elf. 

Before them, someone cleared their throat, and it was the same man who had ordered them brought here. "I am Niriss, elected leader of these people." He took a deep breath, as if summoning courage, and likely he was. The combined stare of the two he addressed was not something easily taken when both were agitated. "I realize you have little reason nor desire to be here, but if you would hear us out and answer our questions, mayhap we can reach an agreement." 

"An agreement?" Legolas demanded, icily, but Aragorn overrode him. "What would you know?" The man's voice was even, his expression fathomless. 

"How did you escape?" 

Legolas told them, and aside form shifting and a couple whispered comments every now and then, no one interrupted. He concluded the story for the second time and waited warily for the villagers' reactions. 

Niriss responded first, looking at them intently. "Where is Jans, now?" 

"I know not," said the prince. "Last I saw, he stood over her. Either he escaped or he met his end in the tunnels, but we know not which." 

"Then he's still alive," a redhead in the back of the room proclaimed. "Never was nothin' could kill Jans out there in them woods." 

Niriss did not look so optimistic. "It was not the woods that tried to kill him, Zan. But we may hope." 

"He'd be happy enough dead," an older man sitting across from the ranger spoke up, his voice slow and careful, a certain gravity in his tone that only came with experience. "'Twas what he wanted, and if she truly is gone, then he accomplished what he set out to do." 

"Either way, it matters not," Niriss interrupted. "If Jans lives we will see him again. If not. . . . What must be decided is the fate of our guests." He looked around at those present, even as they glanced around amongst themselves. Even Legolas could not make out their quiet whispers. Ire rose inside of him. Had they not already done enough? 

Only the old man did not, and he was the first one to speak once the whispers died down. "It's a shame when one man decides the fate of another. Jans was always saying it, and we know it. You should be ashamed of yourself, Niriss, bringing them in here just to tell others to choose their fate. No, what I say--and we all know Jans would agree--is we let them decide where they would go. We decided their fate once and they came out against all odds. I say it's their choice." A murmur of agreement crept hesitantly across the room, though not everyone agreed. 

"I say we wait and find if they speak true," spoke another. "If she is not gone, she may want them back and we had best have them if she does." This also met with agreement. 

"She may be the very least of your troubles," Legolas spoke up quietly, his voice hard underneath the pretense of calm. "We yet live, so you may escape, but should we perish by your hands, the wrath both of King Thranduil of Mirkwood and Lord Elrond Halfelven of Rivendell would be your reward. Aid they might render at our request, but destruction is swift upon our death." 

Niriss found this declaration vaguely amusing, for a smile hovered about his lips. "Not if none knew of your fate." 

"The Lord of Rivendell knows many things. Finding the fate of one dear to him would not be so hard a task. And King Thranduil is hardly patient concerning the fate of his subjects. Immediate death might not be yours, but your fate would be sealed. It is not wise to anger the Elves, Master Human." 

Niriss opened his mouth to speak, but Aragorn beat him to it, his voice soft and level though it grabbed the attention of all in the room. "I have wondered, Master Niriss, why you stay here when you could go elsewhere and live free from fear in some other land." 

Niriss shook his head. "This is our home." 

"You could make it your home," the ranger persisted. 

"Nowhere else would truly be home." 

"Yet you give into her," observed Aragorn. "Why do you let her terrify you? She is but one, and you many. Why do you let her destroy your lives?" 

Many looked around at each other, some in apprehension, too used to being overpowered to desire such lordship, others with question, but all at a loss for words. Fighting had not occurred to any of them. Kaialian had been there for as long as they could remember. Surely there was a reason she was feared, a reason no one opposed her power. But what was it? None knew, the reason lost long ago in the mists of time. The people stared back at the ranger blankly, unsure how to react or what to feel. 

The ranger continued, hoping to ignite something inside them. "Why don't you fight for your children? You would, but somewhere along the way you became convinced you cannot. No one should rule you through fear. So long as you bow to her, you will ever fear her, ever lose your loved ones to her hate. You will, but you do not have to." 

The men, rag-tag as they were, stared at the ranger as if he had just announced he was a new breed of bird, (and likely they would have believed him if he had). The old man started laughing, an empty pipe clenched between his teeth. Everyone turned to look at him instead. 

"You're all right, lad," the old man chuckled. "You're all right." 

A small smile softened Aragorn's features as he looked at the man. "What's your name, good sir?" 

He held the pipe in his hand. "Barald," he said, and stared hard at the ranger before him. "I knew Jans his whole life. Believed it was wrong, that we should do something about it, when he was young. Lost that. All who stay here lose the will to fight." He sucked on the pipe a moment, and his gaze flickered to Legolas. "Odd days when a Man and Elf travel together." 

The friends glanced at each other, slightly amused to be back at this old topic. Aragorn answered, "Times change." 

"Indeed," Barald murmured. "Many generations have come through here, but few live to see old age. There's something about you, boy." He waved his pipe at the ranger. "Something strange about you. Like you're higher than us." 

"I am but a Man, same as you," denied Aragorn. 

Barald smiled grimly, as if something he thought had been confirmed. "Jans was right about you boys, you know," he said. "You take care of each other, now." 

"We will," Legolas answered, his voice soft yet sure. 

"Whatcha gonna do, Niriss? Stars know, no one listens to the old man." 

Niriss looked like he had been backed into a corner and knocked over the head before being punched in the gut. His face was pale and his eyes unfocused. Aragorn eyed him warily, trying to determine if the man was going to pass out. Slowly, Niriss's eyes turned to Barald. Fluffy white eyebrows arched into the man's hairline. Then the greenish-brown eyes looked towards Aragorn. 

"Are you well?" Aragorn asked hesitantly. Niriss nodded slowly, and opened his mouth. 

Suddenly, the sound of pounding feet interrupted the silence that had fallen, cutting off the village leader before he had even begun, and two young girls burst into the room, out of breath and wide-eyed. "Riders! the eldest cried. "Riders from the North! Mama says--she thinks--they're Elves!" 

Silence engulfed the room. 


	20. Pass From Here

I'm sad. Here it is the last chapter, one, and only two of you reviewed (thank you Bill and Grumpy), but oh well. This, as you can probably tell, is a long chapter. It's actually the last chapter and the epilogue, but I didn't feel like making them separate posts. Laziness on my part, but there you go. 

**Bill the Pony:** Glad you liked. Thank you for telling me it was, indeed, you. *g* I hope I haven't forgotten to answer anything I meant to answer. 

**Grumpy:** Yes, back in the village, safe and sound, and help comes. *g* Wonderful help, don't you think? *winks* The answer to that question arrives in the next story. I cannot tell you here. Story arc: can't reveal everything all at once. But please send me all questions so that I remember what I haven't answered so it doesn't get left out. Sometimes it's hard to keep track of. Thanks. 

**Lauren:** I didn't forget about you, honest. You simply don't review on ff.net so in my twisted mind you don't count. *g* No offense, of course. Sorry about college, but I forgive you. I have so much to look forward to. *winces* Lol. A listing on Freud's couch. *makes a funny face as vision passes before her eyes* lol. Oh, that's so wrong. Of course, if I'm bored, I might just write it. *shudders* Then again, maybe not. I don't really want to relive their experiences any more than they do, and I'm still trying to come up with new ones. Maybe Legolas will actually catch up to Aragorn in the next one. He hasn't gotten enough attention. Lol. Children of the Corn? Glowing eyes? Oh, tell. I hate being left in the dark. While I find the picture amusing, I don't understand the reference. *pouts* 

Ok, we'll see if I can carry all this through the next story and actually wrap everything up in a nice, neat little bag for carry out. *g* I have to say that I don't think this is one of my better chapters. But maybe I'm just getting picky in my old age. I rewrote it once long ago before I started posting, and it's definitely better, but it's not all it could be. Still, it does about what I want it to, so I'll live with it. 

What else? Oh, please please please tell my about any lose threads that I have left, even if I have already said they are going to be answered next story. I miss some, and I would like to make sure everything is answered that's supposed to be answered. I try, but no one's perfect. When I finish the sequel, hopefully around Christmas, I'm gonna mark it with [Seqeul to OMaN], because writing the whole title would take up too much room. I'm telling you know, so if you want, you'll know what it means when you see it. 

Anything else? Responses to the last two chapters are at the bottom, that way they're there if you want to read them, or you can ignore, or save them till later, what have you. I'm not including the title of the sequel because I have not settled on one. I have one, but it may be subject to change, and such would be confusing. I think that's everything. 

Have fun.****

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**Chapter 20**

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**Pass From Here**

The elves rode quickly in the pouring rain, intent on reaching their destination. Their keen eyesight had caught sight of the village at the foot of the Mountains of Mirkwood, which had suddenly shrunk from their sight but a few hours prior. All were worried for their friends, but only Raniean and Trelan had any idea as to the sort of trouble Legolas and Aragorn could get into if given the opportunity. 

The taller elf feared that the friends had been near the mountain, even that they had been in it, and that they were now trapped after it had collapsed. Trapped . . . or dead. That was his worst fear: that as quickly as they rode, they would arrive too late to help, that his friends would be dead. 

That was his fear, yet he knew better than to dwell on it. With any luck, and both Strider and Legolas seemed to possess an unsual amount of it for all the trouble they got into, the villagers would know of their prince's and his friend's fate. They could only hope. 

They rode up to the village and dismounted, swinging down easily as they looked around at the various buildings nestled among the trees. Keen eyes caught movement as people shied from their presence. Raniean glanced back as Trelan moved up to his side. 

"Are you sure these Men might know something?" the shorter being asked, eyes following a group of huddled children as a frightened woman herded them into a nearby building. 

Raniean followed his gaze. "This is the only village withing more than a hundred miles. We had better hope they're here." 

"How could they have possibly made it this far south?" 

The elf shrugged as his ears caught a whispered conversation and he halted his response. "Aina, Cori. Go, inform Niriss riders are here, from the North. Tell him they're Elves. He'll know what to do." Then two little girls darted around a building heading towards a larger one further away. Raniean wondered if the fear he had heard in the woman's voice was because they were elves or because of something else. In any case, there was no need to take chances. He motioned his group to remain with the horses--non-threatening but present if needed--then walked with Trelan closer to the group of buildings, trying to look as benevolent as possible. Neither went often into human villages, but both had enough experience to know that human fear could cause things to go wrong in a hurry. 

Finally, someone came out of the building the two girls had disappeared into. He had hair to his shoulders and a beard in the way of men with deep-set eyes in a stern face. The corners of his lips turned down as if he did not smile often and the deep pain that haunted his gaze spoke of terrible loss. When the man stopped before them, the two elves bowed, surprising him. 

"We come seeking news of our friends who disappeared," Trelan announced quietly. "We hope to find them here, or at least news of their health." 

The man bowed back. "Welcome, Master Elves. If you would follow me, it may be that we can answer your questions." With that cryptic comment, spoken low in a gravelly voice, the man turned and walked back the way he had come. 

The elves glanced at each other, not entirely sure what to make of this reception for it was different than the elven ways, yet they knew nothing else to do but follow and hope their fears were put to rest. However, they had far too much experience with both their prince and the ranger to be relieved that they may have found them. 

Trelan leaned closer to Raniean and whispered, "Do you think they're here?" 

"Do you?" Raniean asked, glancing at him. 

The shorter elf sighed. "If they are, I want to know how they made it so far so quickly on foot." 

Raniean snorted. "That human will mange the impossible yet." 

"You mean we'll see him in the undying lands?" 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

"Well?" Aragorn asked, breaking the silence. "What is your decision?" 

Niriss tore his eyes away from the two girls standing in the doorway looking torn between apprehension and excitement, hovering as if waiting to take their cue from their elders on if this was good news. Barald grinned wickedly. 

"Now, Niriss, the Elves have come. No hiding them now." 

Niriss stared blankly at Legolas, the train of his thoughts hidden from all. Had he stood just a little stiller, he could have been carved from stone. Everyone waited, Barald chuckling softly, as their leader considered what to do. Finally, he stirred. "Korl, bring the Elves in here." 

A man in the back of the room stood and moved quickly out of the building. No one moved as they waited for him to return, but the ranger watched Niriss closely, noting that he had gone still again, lost in his thoughts. 

The man was in an uncomfortable position, he knew. As leader of his people, by choice or otherwise, they looked to him to keep them safe, make decisions that promote their well-being. Would he risk the safety of his people to keep them safe from Kaialian? Would he risk the wrath of the elves by withholding their prince? There was the possibility of ill either way. 

Inwardly, Aragorn grimaced. _I do not envy you your position, Niriss. It is a hard choice. I hope you make the right one._

They did not have to wait long before they heard footsteps outside, even above the rain which pounded steady from above, then three grim-faced individuals entered, water dripping from their forms onto the floor. Korl immediately moved off to the side and resumed his position along the wall. Raniean and Trelan were left facing Niriss, who did not seem to know what to do now that the elves were actually before him. The elves, for their part, relaxed slightly upon seeing their friends alive. 

The two elves waited expectantly for Niriss to make the first move. Aragorn had to fight a smile as it appeared the human was waiting for the elves to make the first move. Had he not known better, the ranger would have believed himself to be witness to a staring contest instead of a . . . he did not know what. It remained to be seen what Niriss planned to do. 

As the silence stretched into the realm of the absurd, Barald started laughing again. "Speak up, lad," he bid. "They're waiting for you." 

The smile Aragorn had been fighting worked its way onto his face against his will. Legolas had to duck his head to hide a smile of his own. 

Niriss started, jerking slightly. "Oh," he breathed, then straightened and took a deep breath. His eyes darted around the room before settling back on the elves before him, and with that action regained a measure of dignity. "Welcome to our village," he intoned, for lack of any better beginning. "We are honored by your presence, Elves of Mirkwood." He inclined his head respectfully. 

Raniean repeated the gesture and stepped forward. "We thank you. Our lord, King Thranduil, sent us in search of Prince Legolas of Mirkwood and Strider of the North. We are grateful to find them well and wish to extend our gratitude to you. If there is any way me may be of service, you have only to ask." 

Niriss blinked, flummoxed. Barald laughed. "We said, Master Elf. We said!" Everybody, including the four strangers, looked at him. "It takes quite a bit to make him speechless, but you've done it!" He cackled some more, his amusement paramount. 

Raniean and Trelan gave the man uncertain smiles, then glanced hesitantly at Aragorn before turning to look back at Niriss, awaiting his response. 

"Uh, yes," the man responded, jumping again as if he had been slapped. "Yes. You are, of course, welcome to remain here as long as you desire." His voice seemed to die as he said these words, and his greenish-brown eyes flickered nervously to Aragorn and Legolas. 

Trelan's eyes also flickered, curious about the reason for the man's behavior and saw the slightly wide-eyed look Strider had (coupled with a forced smile when he saw Niriss was looking), and the overly tense posture of his prince. Exactly what had happened, he did not know, but it was clear they did not want to remain here. A sentiment he would have been more than willing to return whole-heartedly (good things never happened when one stayed too long in a human village--what would happen with three?) except for the the face that both Strider and Legolas were injured. He would not take them home, injured, in the rain, and be forced to face the wrath of his king. He would not. 

However, before he could voice that belief, Strider stood and spread his hands, heavily bandages (what did he touch _this_ time?), in a placating gesture. "Thank you, Niriss, but that really isn't necessary. Legolas and I have burdened your people long enough." 

There was a hint of command in his voice, almost as if he were ordering the man to rescind his offer, and apparently Niriss caught the tone, too, for he swallowed hard and glanced nervously at Legolas. 

"N-nonsense," he declaimed, his smile looking almost pained. "You are no burden, and it would be ill-advised for you to leave now, while it is raining so hard. At least enjoy our hospitality until the rain stops." 

The two friends looked as if they were about to argue, so Trelan stepped hurriedly forward. "Of course," he said, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. "We would be honored to remain with you, at least until the rain stops. It is well, and we thank you for your generosity." 

Niriss nodded wearily, and Trelan got the impression that if he walked forward the five steps that separated him from the man and tapped him lightly, he would tip over. "Please, help our friends to, uh, more comfortable surroundings." 

A group of men jumped up quickly and surrounded the elf prince and human, working quickly and blocking both individuals from sight. In the confused bustle that nevertheless managed to complete the task quickly, Trelan almost, _almost_, missed the dark glare both ranger and elf sent his way. Almost. He drifted back closer to Raniean. 

"Mayhap we should see if these villagers would give us a tour of their lovely village." The two elves followed slowly as the mass moved outside and off towards a different building. 

"No, I don't think so," Raniean countered slowly, eyes fixed on the mass that blocked their friends from view. "I think we would be better off getting this done quickly. They are together. If they are given the chance to prepare, we might not see the light of day again. Minnimal casualities if we go now." 

Trelan nodded hesitantly, his eyes locked on the building his friends had been taken to, the rain once again seeking to soak his already soaked garments. Movement drew his eyes back towards their other warriors, and the two elves watched as the horses were led to another building, out of the rain, and the warriors to yet another. He sighed. "Let's get this over with. At least if they kill us, we won't have to take the prince back injured to his father." 

Raniean nodded. "Let us hope they kill us." Then the two elves walkked carefully towards where they had last seen their friends. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Legolas was angry. Legolas was angry and in pain. He was angry and in pain and tired, and that did not bode well for the objects of his ire; the objects, one might add, that had yet to appear. Blue eyes narrowed to dangerous slits as he listened for his friends' footsteps and heard nothing but the rain. 

Aragorn, too, was awaiting their appearance, and though his face was impassive, his eyes burned with a fury the elf prince was glad was not directed at him. This was going to be good. 

Words, accusations ran through his head. _How dare they! How dare they deny me the freedom that is my due. How dare they make me stay longer than I must in a place I do not like. How dare they even _begin_ to think they know better than I what I need. How dare they--_

The objects of his ire entered, cutting off his silent diatribe, Trelan first followed hesitantly by Raniean. Apparently, Trelan had lost whatever game had been used to determine order. Had he not been so angry, he would have been happy to see them. It seemed like forever since he had last seen them, though it could not have been more than a week since he had last traveled in their company. Indeed, had he not been so angry, he might have laughed. 

Both looked as though they were creeping through a wolves' den full of sleeping beasts that they dared not wake, their eyes wide and steps slow and unbelievably cautious. It looked almost as if they were trying to walk backwards and moving forwards instead. In fact, it was only that anger that allowed him to keep a straight face and he glared at them as they stepped before him, casting anxious glances towards Aragorn as if they feared to turn away from him but could not bare to stare. It was getting more and more difficult to hold onto his ire. 

Aragorn, though, did not seem to be having any trouble. His voice was low and almost calm when he spoke. Almost, but yelling would have been less terrifying. Legolas had never heard that tone in his friend before, and it both intrigued and unnerved him. "You had better have a good excuse for yourselves." 

Both warriors shifted nervously, stumbling over their words and each other's for nearly five minutes without saying a single thing. When this only made the human's face darker, they cut off, falling into miserable silence. Their eyes darted towards the door as the ranger stood and walked towards them. 

When he stood less than a foot from Trelan, he stopped, glaring at the shorter elf with incredible fire in his eyes. Trelan swallowed hard and looked past the man's shoulder like he was a trainee about to get the most brutal dessing-down of his life. The silence stretched, tension growing, until it was nearly unbearable. Still Aragorn did not speak. 

Aragorn waited until Trelan could not stand it any more and glanced back down. When he did, Aragorn spoke. "You're late." 

The simple, truly calm words dropped into the silence like a large rock being dropped into a lake. The impact took a moment to register, as if the sound took longer to travel in the tension thickened atmosphere. Raniean and Trelan blinked stupidly, unwilling to believe the worst was over until they were completely sure. The ranger pulled Trelan into a hug, slapping his back, warmly. "What took you so long?" 

Legolas smirked. "We expected you sooner." 

"You did?" Raniean glanced between them, looking more perturbed by the frieldly welcome than the prince had ever seen him, and that included the time he and Trelan had gotten him drunk and changed his room so that the floor was not the floor. He had not understood why he kept slipping off the chair. 

The elf prince could feel his facade slipping, a smile creeping onto his face. "Of course," Aragorn said, his eyes sparkling. "And we were quite disappointed when you didn't show up when we thought you should." 

Trelan laughed, and slumped tiredly onto a stool near the foot of the cot. Raniean rubbed his face tiredly. "There was not call for that," he objected. 

"Revenge," Aragorn answered with a wicked grin. "We could have done something different." 

"We thought you were going to kill us." 

The ranger cocked his head. "The thought did cross our mind. But Mirkwood needs her captains more than we needed to kill you; thus, you are still standing." 

Trelan peered at him, then turned to Legolas. "Is he joking?" 

"You cannot tell?" the elf prince asked innocently. 

The shorter elf glanced at the human as he sat down. "He's a Ranger. They always look serious." 

"And looks are never deceiving," Aragorn laughed, smiling at Legolas. 

Legolas grinned back as Trelan scowled in agitation. He tilted his head towards the Mirkwood captains. "So my father decided we would get into trouble quicker this time, hm?" 

"No, my prince," Trelan said, prompting Legolas to roll his eyes. "He merely decided not to take any chances." 

"When you did not return on schedule, he ordered us to take some help and go find you. The idea, I think, was to get to you before you got into trouble." Raniean studied them critically. "But we seem to be too late." 

Aragorn snorted. "Aye. We were in trouble long before we were due back." 

"What happened?" 

The friends glanced at each other and Legolas slouched where he sat, idly playing with a bit of bandage on his leg. "Oh, you know. . . . This and that." 

"How did you find us?" Aragorn shot back before they could ask what "this and that" entailed. 

Trelan frowned. "We won't tell you until you tell us." 

"Well, okay, then," Aragorn said easily. "Never mind." He scooted back until his back rested against the wall and closed his eyes, seeming to close the subject. Legolas took his cue and settled back with a contented smile. The two warriors glared at their friends but were not willing to disturb them. They looked tired, and if they were going to rest of their own accord, they were not about to stop them. 

Raniean glared. "This is not over yet. Don't even begin to think it is." Aragorn and Legolas merely laughed, glad to have friends nearby. Then, far from pleased, the Mirkwood warriors settled back to wait out the rain. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

As it turned out, the rain lasted well into the night and the group was obliged to wait until morning, something Legolas knew had pleased Raniean and Trelan greatly and irritated him to no extent. While preparations were being made that morning, Legolas sent Landil and Korval to find his and the ranger's weapons. Raniean was not allowing them to go anywhere because he said they would get into more trouble. Of course, Legolas disagreed. He believed they had already fulfilled their trouble quota for a while and were likely to be trouble free for a few days, at least. Needless to say, no one believed him--except Strider, but since the human was on his side, he did not count. 

Finally, Landil and Korval returned with their weapons and the supplies were settled and distributed. Everyone was ready to go, and Legolas was helped onto his horse (his legs did not want to support his weight yet) and Strider was helped on behind him. The elf prince could just imagine the sight they made and nearly laughed. He glanced back when Aragorn wrapped his arms around his waist. 

"All right back there, Strider?" 

"Just don't do anything sudden," the ranger replied, glancing surreptiously at the warriors around them. Raniean and Trelan came up beside him. "I don't know how well my grip will hold." 

"I'm still not sure this is such a good idea," Raniean said with a frown, pausing beside his friends. 

Legolas sighed tolerantly. "Like I said, if we run into trouble, it's better for the invalids to be on one horse so we're in one place and not in the way. Unless, of course, you wish to take us into battle?" 

"Nay, my lord. I understand the reasoning. It's just. . . . Let's just pray we don't find any trouble." 

"You will get no arguments here, Ran," Aragorn said, smiling at the warrior. "I've had enough trouble in the last month to last me a lifetime." 

"Or a month," Legolas broke in. "At least." 

Ranger and elf laughed, even as the other two frowned. "Don't worry so much," Legolas chided. "All will be well." 

Doubtful looks were exchanged by the elven warriors. "As you say, my lord." 

The group fell silent and turned expectantly to the right as Niriss stepped near, accompanied as before by Briit and Kyrol. He looked more at ease than he had the night before, and Legolas hoped he had found peace with his decision. 

Aragorn spoke. "Thank you for your assistance, Niriss. It was most appreciated. I don't think we would still be alive had you not helped." 

Niriss shook his head. "Do not tender thanks, Ranger. Our actions have, if anything, left us even, though I believe we are in your debt." 

"There is no debt." 

"Then go in peace," Niriss bid, "and may the Valar show you to good fortune." 

Aragorn inclined his head. "And you as well." He smiled slightly and then they were on their way, their pace slow as two of the members could not ride fast. A comfortable silence settled over the group, and they contented themselves with listening to the sounds of the forest, the quiet murmur of small creatures and insects and the sigh of the trees. Legolas closed his eyes and soaked it all in, letting the peace of the trees erase the memories of stone. 

"Are you all right?" asked a quiet voice in his ear, meant for his ears alone. 

"It's good to be going home," Legolas replied. 

"Yes," Aragorn agreed. 

Raniean guided his horse closer to them. Trelan looked expectant, eyebrows raised. "This or that?" 

Legolas frowned lightly. "This or that?" 

"Yes?" 

"Okay." 

"Legolas!" Trelan cried. "Tell us what happened." 

"You have not told us how you found us yet." 

Raniean protested, "If we do that, you will not tell us." 

Aragorn smirked. "It looks like you're not getting told, then." 

"But you owe us." 

"We do?" the elf prince looked questioningly at his friend. 

"You do," Trelan answered. 

"For what?" 

"For making us come get you yet again and bring you back injured to make us face King Thranduil's wrath." 

Legolas thought about that for a minute, then slowly shook his head. "No, mellon nin, you are wrong. _We_ did not do that. _We_ have made you go nowhere. It was my father who did that. I think you should ask _him_. 

"I think we should have left you in the village," Trelan grumbled audibly under his breath. 

"I think we should have let you," the prince replied, not missing a beat. "Then you could be banished and we would not have to put up with your prying." 

"Prying, my lord?" questioned Raniean, feigning hurt. "We only wish to know our prince. Surely you could indulge two of your most faithful subjects and share his auspicious story." 

"Hm," Legolas stalled, looking serious. "What do you think, Aragorn?" 

"I don't know, Legolas. It is a difficult decision." 

"It is, indeed." 

"Perhaps we should decide later." 

"Perhaps we should." 

"Perhaps we should cut off your heads and save the staff the trouble," Trelan shot back. 

Legolas looked at him, wide-eyed, then glanced back at Aragorn, who nodded almost imperceptively. "Oh," the prince said, sounding defeated. "Perhaps we should tell, then." 

Raniean and Trelan began to smile, only to catch a slight gleam in their prince's eyes. "Or perhaps you should catch us." 

Before Raniean and Trelan could react, before they could even process their prince's words, Aragorn tightened his hold on Legolas and leaned forward. In the flash of an eye, they were off, racing through the trees, the wind whipping through their hair. In that moment, none of the pain of the last few days had happened, none of the fear, none of the uncertainty. For a few moments, they were free, rushing in the open far away from the troubles of the world. 

Then the pain asserted itself and the illusion shattered, reality shooting through with a vengeance and dropping them hard. It was no use to go on. No matter how hard they tried, no matter how far they went, the pain would never be gone. It was hopeless. Crashes sounded through the brush, pounding hoof-beats as four horses raced to catch up, angry words promising retribution in teasing voices, and then pain was forgotten. The race was on. 

Through brush and bramble, around trees, over obsturctions, they ran, sometimes gaining ground, sometimes losing it. For nearly five miles they raced before they were overcome. The group of elves and man all pulled up their mounts and returned to a more reasonable pace. Legolas stroked the proud beast's neck in thanks as Aragorn threw back a taunt to the pair of warriors behind them. 

"Fall off?" he inquired cheerfully. 

"Quiet, Strider," Trelan warned grumpily as Raniean laughed. Then, in a switch of mood worthy of the elves, the taller elf sobered and asked, "What happened to your hands?" 

"That's a long story," hedged the Dúnadan. 

"We have time," Trelan reminded soberly, hoping the ranger would talk about it. Not knowing what happened was driving them crazy. 

Aragorn shook his head slowly, his thoughts inadventently taking him back to that chair and those bonds and the pain. . . . He was surprised when a hand tightened around his forearm, and he looked up into Legolas' sympathetic blue eyes. Silence stretched as no one knew how to break it, uncomfortable though it was. It was Aragorn, ironically enough, who finally broke it. 

He yawned. 

Legolas looked back at him, incredulously. "What are you yawning for, Ranger? You slept." 

Aragorn scowled, only just stopping himself from smacking the fair creature up-side his head, and only by reminding himself it would hurt him far more than Legolas and the elf was likely to find it funny. "I was not asleep," he retorted, instead, sounding miffed. 

"Your eyes were closed." 

"I was on a journey." Raniean and Trelan were lost, but Legolas and Aragorn knew exactly what they were talking about. 

"Was not. Your eyes were closed, you were still, and you did not respond. What do you call it?" 

"A journey," mused Aragorn. 

"A journey? You were sleeping!" 

Aragorn shook his head. "Nay, I was on a journey." 

"Where did you go?" asked Trelan, interested in something that had obviously happened before they arrived during that time they would not talk about. 

"To a dark place," Aragorn replied slyly. 

"That's rather vague." 

"It was a vague place." 

Legolas rolled his eyes. "Oh, please." He did not like this conversation, and if he could pry his mind away from the images of his friend, unresponsive, he would change subjects, but his mind would not cooperate. The fear was too strong. 

The Mirkwood warriors caught something in his voice for they asked no more questions. Everyone, including Raniean and Trelan, turned their attention back to their surroundings, watching the trees for unfriendly creatures. He felt Aragorn shift behind him, then lay his head on his shoulder. The human's breath ghosted against his neck. 

"It was dark," Aragorn breathed too softly for the others to hear. "A voice wanted me to stay, to let go, and I wanted to listen. It was so tempting. If I stayed, I knew I would hurt you, for death may be your reward for your friendship." Legolas had gone very still, listening closely as Aragorn spoke, explaining to the elf prince his journey, what had caused the prince so much fear and pain. "I . . . wandered close to dath, floated in flase serenity, but there was no pain, and that was what I sought to escape. Pain. I would not see. . . . Hope. Hope showed me the path, reminded me what I would lose, what you would lose . . . that the future was not set. It could be changed. I decided to live. No matter how much I thought it would hurt, I could not leave you or Ada or the twins. So I came back." 

"Hannon le," Legolas whispered after several moments of silence. He was glad his friend had told him. As strange as it sounded, knowing what had happened, some of his friend's pain, helped ease his own. "I'm glad you came back." 

"So am I." He could feel the human smile, then he raised his head and looked around. "I'm glad I left my pack at the palace." 

Legolas frowned slighty, thrown by the change of subject. "Why?" 

"We lost our packs," the human explained. "I would have hated to lose your gift." 

"You keep it with you?" the prince asked, surprised. 

Aragorn just smiled. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

The moon, just past a quarter full, floated high in the sky, hovering ghostly pale in the sky among the twinkling stars, Earendil brightest among them and nearly radiating peace, a peace which came from hope. Aragorn could not even begin to count the number of times he had looked up to the stars to find solace, the strength to go on. They had been an anchor, holding him steady among the battering, crushing darkness during the long years of his travel alone, and the only thing he had left to cling to in the night when he lay awake after dark dreams threatened to drown him in the choking depths of hopelessness. 

Now, though, they were a promise that no matter how dark things became, how lost, how hopeless, that there was always light, that happiness would return if he just held on long enough. That was what he had nearly lost on that strange journey, the faith that there was light and hope worth holding onto. Friends were that light, that hope. And Legolas was the best he could hope for. 

The stars twinkled down on him as if in approval, and he smiled, a small, soft, sad smile, yet peaceful just the same. Yes, he could hold onto his friends and never let them go until the end of his life, but those he loved would never be able to do the same. One day he would leave, and they would have to let him go, one day far too soon that nevertheless hovered on the horizon. One day, no matter how much he might wish it to be otherwise, he would break their hearts. And that broke his. 

A soft knock startled him out of his reverie. "Come in, Legolas," he bid quietly, knowing the elf would hear him. 

The door opened and closed, and Aragorn heard the whisper soft steps of his friend cross the room, audible only because it was and had been silent in his room. He shifted over, and Legolas perched on the side of the bed. "You should be sleeping," he observed quietly. 

"So should you," Aragorn answered, his voice barely above a whisper, almost as if he was trying not to break the silence, but really because he did not need to. 

"I had a feeling you would still be awake," was the reply. The elf pulled a leg up and rested his hands around it, then perched his chin on his knee and studied the human beside him. "How are your hands?" 

"Better." 

"And your head?" 

"As well as it has ever been." Legolas chuckled quietly and Aragorn ventured a question of his own. "And you, my friend? How are your legs?" 

"On the mend, obviously. I walked in here, did I not?" 

"But were you supposed to?" 

"Don't mother me, Strider," retorted the prince. Aragorn laughed. "They weren't crushed, just felt like it. They were barely even broken. It was just the nerves, mostly. They'll be as good as new in a day or so." 

Aragorn nodded and went back to staring out the window. Neither really wanted to talk about their injuries, numerous as they were, especially after escaping from the healers, and by silent mutual agreement, they decided to take the other's presence as proof that they were well and let it be. 

Legolas glanced at Aragorn out of the corner of his eyes. He did not like the sadness he saw in his friend, a subdued feeling that had been in place ever since they had escaped those cursed caves. It troubled him that the young man was growing up so quickly, that things troubled him so much. Yet the human seemed calm, far calmer than the last time he had laid in these halls, at least. But he hated the thought of such sadness being the price. 

"You are tired, Ranger," he observed. "Why do you not sleep?" 

The human beside him did not answer immediately, staring up at the stars, but when he did answer, it was not to the question the prince had asked. "Hannon le, Legolas." 

The elf blinked. "For what?" 

Silver eyes turned to him, as serious as he had ever seen them. "For not giving up on me. For being here for me." 

Legolas swallowed hard, his mind automatically racing to those moments when he was sure his friend was dead. To his surprise, Aragorn smiled. "I'm not talking about in the cave, though there is that, too. I mean before. When I showed up at your door, a hysterical mess that had no idea what he wanted. And you stayed by me, helped me hold on." 

"You would and have done the same for me," Legolas said, voice soft. 

"That does not take away from the sacrifice," Aragorn insisted. "And it means a lot to me. Doing things for others is part of who I am. It's different being on the receiving end." 

Legolas smiled gently. "You're welcome." 

Aragorn smiled back. He tilted his head closer to the elf prince and asked, "What's on your mind, mellon nin?" 

A soft laugh escaped the fair being. "And you say my people see through you," he replied wryly. That same melancholy smile graced the ranger's lips. "It can wait, my friend." 

The ranger frowned and sat up, swinging around so he could look the elf straight in the eye. "What can wait?" 

Legolas started to get up but Aragorn made a grab for the elf's clothing, wincing as his fingers caught in his friends clothes and from the movement inherent in the gesture. His friend stopped, watching with concern. Aragorn looked up again after a moment to find Legolas watching him with wide eyes. 

"Truly, it can wait, Strider," he said, voice low. 

Aragorn shook his head, biting down on the impulse to flex his fingers. The idea was to relieve pain, but such an action would only increase it. "I could not sleep, and shall not be able to now. And if you could not sleep, either, and will not, then you might as well tell me now." Mischief shone suddenly in his eyes, and the boy he had been was easy to imagine, his expression suddenly sly. "I knew elves had forever, but I had not imagined they procrastinated, my prince." 

The blonde-haired elf shoved him gently, and hmphed. Mock glaring at the man before him. "I'll have you know I was thinking of you." 

"I'm touched," Aragorn said, surpressing a grin. "But, as you can see, there is no need to wait." 

Not truly desiring to argue, Legolas sat back down. He bit his lip, then busied himself with his fingers, idly playing with them. "It's nothing, really. I just . . . needed to be sure." 

"Sure of what?" 

"That I wasn't dreaming," whispered Legolas. Aragorn had to lean forward to hear him, and even then he almost missed the quiet words. 

Then he leaned back, mind racing as he tried to figure out why his friend would think he was dreaming. As much as being in the hearlers' ward, being poked and prodded, was like a nightmare, unless they gave one something there was no doubt about being awake. Of course, there was that whole trip which could pretty much fall under a very strange dream, starting when they left Thranduil's halls, but there had been a number of those, and Legolas had never seemed particularly bothered by them. 

Perhaps he _had_ been dreaming and had decide it seemed too real to accept the assurances of his mind. But, then, why come to him? Why would he? Elves did not . . . unless it was _about_ him. He cocked his head. "What kind of dream?" 

Legolas shook his head. "It is no matter. Thank you, Strider." The elf stood abruptly and began striding towards the door. There was something about his posture that bothered the ranger. . . . 

_"The strange thing about fate, Estel, is that you never know when it will close in. . . ."_

~*~ 

He was nine and three quarters, due to turn ten in a month and a half and it was a beautiful day. The weather was warm, with a gentle and dry breeze keeping it that way. He was inside, but the windows were open and he was with Ada; it did not matter what he was doing. Today, though, he was learning about different herbs. There were so many! His silver eyes were wide as he struggled to absorb everything. 

". . . and this is athelas," his Ada finished. 

He looked up from the herb into deep blue eyes. "What does athelas do?" 

A hand was laid on his shoulder. "Some use it to relieve headaches, but in the hands of a few, it can do much more." 

"Like what?" 

"You will learn, in due time, Estel," Ada said. "For now, just know what it looks like, and its names." 

"Names?" 

A smile quirked the elf lord's lips as he was interrupted once more. "Aye, names. It is also called kingsfoil in the common tongue and asea aranion." The boy turned the leaves over in his hand, examining them from every angle. 

The boy looked back up. "When is the 'due time'?" 

"When it comes," answered Ada. 

"But when?" 

The elf lord went down on a knee so he was nearly level with the boy and took him by the arms. "It will come when it will come. You need not wish for it nor look for it. Be a boy, Estel. You will grow up quick enough as it is, and one day you may wish to be a boy once more but you shall not get it. The strange thing about fate, Estel, is that you never know when it will close in on you, and rarely want it when it does, no matter what you wished before." He smiled at the youth who was staring at him so intently, then brushed away some of his unruly hair, earning a cocky grin in return. "I think that's enough for today. Why don't you go play?" 

Estel's face lit like a firecracker, then melted into earnest apprehension. Did he dare ask for what he wanted? He licked his lips. "Could you--I mean. Ada, would you play with me?" 

The elf lord smiled and stood. "Oh. I think that can be arranged this time. . . ." 

~*~ 

Fate. 

Aragorn sat up straighter, nearly jumping off the bed. "Legolas! Wait." 

The elf paused at the door and turned questioning eyes on his friend, whatever he was feeling locked tightly away. There was no sign that things were otherwise than the elf said. "Yes?" 

Still, for some reason, he could not let his friend simply leave and go back to his room. Possibly, it was because _he_ did not want to be alone. He took a deep breath. "I . . . Legolas, would you care to stay? I--it--" He frowned, then shrugged. "The night has ever seemed brighter by your side." 

A small smile graced the elf's features, but some of the tension, tension that he had never noticed was present until it disappeared, seemed to have faded. He nodded, then stepped out quickly, returning in moments with his pillow. It was the work of only a few moments to set up their sleeping arrangements. The pair crawled under the covers and settled, staring at the ceiling. 

"Good night, Legolas," bid Aragorn. 

"Good night, Strider," came the echo, and both relaxed. To Aragorn's surprise, sleep came easily, and within moments he knew no more of the waking world. Legolas was quick to follow. Both slept all the easier for the other's presence. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

In another place, far away from the peace of the elven palace of Mirkwood, dark creatures crawled. In a dark land, evil did not sleep. But darkness has many forms, and shadows follow everywhere. Darkness is not necessary. 

By a pool, filled with crystal clear water, the bottom full of smooth stones plainly visible, crouched a small figure, unidentifiable as anything that had ever walked Middle-earth before or since. 

It crouched, little, brittle hands moving from feet to mouth over and over. A small, slipping _slurp_ sounded from beneath the hood. It was alone, surrounded on all sides by green leaves and lush grass. Tinkling could be heard in the distance as water dropped into the pool, but it did not seem to care, it did not seem to hear. 

Then cracking could be heard, slowly coming closer, and the creature stilled, it's head coming up. The light shifted, falling across the form at the creature's feet and spilling across its hands. Blood. Fresh blood. 

The crashing came closer, heedless of where is went, what it approached, unaware of any possible danger. Then, with a delighted giggle, a child burst from the brush across from the creature, continuing all the way forward until his small feet splashed in the water. He clapped and jumped. The creature did not move, and curious blue eyes studied it. The child giggled again and clapped, but still it did not move. 

Uncertainty marred the young one's face as worry began to replace excitement at this new thing. Then, the dark figure crouched further, moving forward on hands and feet. Slowly, the child took a step backward, erased by a step of the creature. Anxiety burned in the child, and he stepped back again. 

Green eyes, unbearabley bright, flashed from beneath the hood, almost human in size and shape. Fear froze the child to his spot and the creature leapt. 

The child screamed. Blood ran in the clear water of the pool. 

**Epilogue**

Three figures stood on the steps of the Last Homely House. All had long black hair and piercing blue eyes. Two shared the same face and wore the same clothes, dressed in browns and tans and wearing black cloaks made of rough material--at least as rough as elven clothing ever was. The third wore robes of blue, both dark and light that fell elegantly around his legs and a thin circlet sat upon his brow. A small smile parted his lips as he watched the other two shoulder packs. 

"We will be back in a few months, Ada. Maybe three," Elladan said. "It should not take longer than that to deliver these messages." 

"Send word if you learn anything about Estel," Elrohir spoke up, blue eyes anxious. "We would hear how he is, but the waiting. . . ." 

"I understand, my sons," Elrond said, his voice calming. "Should word come of Estel, I will send you word however I may. Be careful on your journey." 

"We will, Ada," Elladan assured. They hugged, then the twins walked away and swung quickly up onto their horses. Both looked back quickly, then spurred their mounts on, riding away from their home and into the wild at a fast clip. 

Elrond understood their desire, could even appreciate it and agree with it, but he wished they did not desire a task that would take so long. His father's heart was not sure he could stand for such uncertainty concerning all three of his sons. Deep down, he feared he would lose them all. 

With a last, sad glance toward the horizon, the lord of Rivendell walked back inside to try and distract himself from his own worries. 

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*smiles* Hi. These are the review responses for chapters 17 and 18. 

**Elfmage: **I cannot even begin to go back to the beginning and respond individually to every single treasured review. I had the best time reading them, though, and they really made my day. I'm glad you love it. And no, they never learn. But the bad guys never learn either so they're even. *g* A nice guess! Bravo! Lol. Thank you for the crown, it fits wonderfully, but don't let Cassia and Sio know you gave it to me. *g* (I actually think they're better at it.) Truly peotic? I'm glad it worked. Lol. Yes, I imagine that's about right. I do know the sort, and I think Legolas will get his due soon enough. *gives evil smile* Yes, soon enough. Thank you! 

**Grumpy:** lol, yes, too much to hope that it's a St. Bernard. Can you tell I love spine-tingling-end-of-chapter one-liners? *g* Guilt trips are _very_ contagious. Be wary. 

**Bill the Pony:** lol. Eureka! You liked it! Lol. *g* 

Now, with any luck, I really will have the sequel out by New Years. Pray for it. Until next time. *g* 


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